


Born to Run

by softbiker



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bikers, F/M, My First Fanfic, Probably more characters, also first work in marvel fandom, not sure how violent this will get but tagging just in case
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2020-09-26 16:16:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 38,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20392552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softbiker/pseuds/softbiker
Summary: Reader is a newly graduated medical resident participating in a rural practice program. She moves out to the middle of nowhere to take over a small clinic, with no friends, no family, and nothing to do. Y/N just wants to do her time, pay off her student loans, and get back to the city. But a rough and tumble group of local bikers may have other ideas…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know very little about real actual bikers. I do, however, know quite a bit about small rural towns, so I'm drawing on experience here. I update this series on a weekly basis on my tumblr @softbiker, but I'll try to keep up with it here as well. Please let me know what you think!

She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel along to the beat of the radio, watching yet another cornfield slip past outside the window. The highway curved back and forth through the ripening stalks, the hot pavement glistening in the August heat. In the distance, she could see the blinding metal sheen of grain elevators stretching in a line away from the road, towards...nothing.

A whole lot of nothing, as far as she was concerned.

It’s worth it. Y/N reminded herself. Just think about the money.

She took a sip from the fast food soda in the console cup holder, then reached for her phone, thumb swiping at the screen to check the GPS. 45 minutes out. And still enough service to get directions, thank god. She considered calling her mother but decided against it, and dropped her phone back in its place in the second cupholder. 

With no one to talk to, she resigned herself to her thoughts and the old rock music on the radio for company.

************************************************************************************************************************************************

“There you are! We were wonderin’ when you’d get in!” Mr. Van Horn waved with one hand and stood from his place on the porch steps, wiping his palms on the back of his jeans.

Y/N smiled, closing the car door with her hip. She hadn’t realized that he would be waiting here for her, but it did make sense - she was renting his mother’s old house and she hadn’t been able to pick up a key before she came to town today. Still, she felt guilty that she made the older man sit outside in the heat for...however long; she could see the sweat glistening on his forehead and the backs of his arms. 

“Yep, here I am!” she shrugged, trying to match his enthusiasm, but the drive had sapped her energy, and she prayed that he would simply hand her the keys and leave. If he tried to help carry her boxes she would feel so, so guilty. “I’m sorry, have you been waiting long?”  
“Nah,” he waved her off. “Only an hour or so, an’ I needed to shuck this corn anyway.” He gestured to the two five gallon buckets sitting to the side of the porch steps, one filled with pale yellow ears of corn, the other overflowing with the discarded husks. 

“Oh, that’s good, then.” Y/N answered lamely, shifting from foot to foot. She’d finished the soda a half hour ago and was desperate for a bathroom. 

“Well, you come on in here,” Mr. Van Horn turned and started up the porch steps. “I’ve got the air conditionin’ turned on for ya already, so you won’t burn up!” 

Y/N followed, thanking him for the thought. The screen door creaked as he swung it open and then pushed in the unlocked front door. He stepped aside, allowing her to walk into the lovely cool air first. She thanked him, looking around at the quaint little house. 

She had rented the house based solely on the pictures he had emailed her, and thankfully the images were true to life. It was clear an elderly lady had lived here - the mauve walls and framed doilies and floral print sofa spoke to the careful homemaking of a mid-century wife. The china cabinet held real china, painted with pale pink roses, and a few pastoral paintings decorated the walls, interspersed with faded family photos. Soft afternoon light illuminated the room through the delicate lace curtains. 

Mr. Van Horn directed her to the closest bathroom, and Y/N scurried down the hall, made quick use of it, and then came back, her steps shuffling on the thick brown carpet. 

“Well, you’ve seen everything in the pictures, I think. It’s not a big house, but comfortable for one person. Ma sure did love it, and she took good care of it, while she could still live here by herself.” 

Y/N nodded. “I’ll take good care of it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will. Not too worried about that. Now, before I forget, lemme get you those keys…”

As he dug in his pockets, the loud roar of an engine sounded from somewhere outside the house. Y/N jumped at the sound, startled, and turned to the window.

“What the hell is that?” she asked, moving the curtain aside to look up the street. 

“Oh, that’ll be Mr. Barnes, your neighbor.” Y/N glanced at him and Van Horn tilted his head towards the window, raising his eyebrows. He didn’t seem surprised at all by the noise. 

“Neighbor?” 

“Sure, right across the street there.” Sure enough, as Y/N turned back to the window, she saw a man on a sleek black motorcycle pull into the driveway across the street. She could only see him from the back, but she noted the broad line of his shoulders in his dark jacket, and the brown hair pulled back in a bun. While she watched, he parked the bike under the carport and stood up. Y/N couldn’t help but notice the length of his legs in his faded jeans and the way the fabric looked tight around his thighs. She had to admit she was impressed by the sheer mass of him…

“He’s a nice enough young man, but he keeps to himself, well him and his little gang,” Van Horn sighed and crossed his arms. “You probably won’t see much of him.”

Y/N just nodded and stepped away from the window, forcing her gaze away from the retreating form of her neighbor. 

Mr. Van Horn handed over the keys and asked if she needed any help getting settled, which Y/N quickly denied. It was mostly just clothes and personal items she was bringing in, since they had agreed to leave the house furnished - that was the easiest course of action for Y/N, considering the move wasn’t permanent. 

After repeating assurances that she would be just fine on her own, and fending off invitations to dinner with his wife, Y/N waved away Mr. Van Horn from the front porch as his truck pulled away from the curb and down the street. She huffed a sigh of relief, shoulders sagging, as she hopped down the steps to her car. She would only bring in her necessities for now, she decided. The rest could come later, and she had 4 days to get everything comfortable and arranged before her first day at the clinic. 

She opened the back seat and pulled out her green duffel bag, the one containing daily toiletries, pajamas, and a few changes of clothes and underwear. That would do until she could motivate herself to bring in the rest. As she swung the bag over her shoulder and turned to close the door, she saw a shape in the corner of her eye.

Across the street, her neighbor, Mr. Barnes, was standing by his mailbox. Staring at her. Their eyes met, but he didn’t look away, and she couldn’t bring herself to either. From the front, she could see that a dark shadow of scruff covered his cheeks and jaw. He had shed the leather jacket, leaving him in a white t-shirt that stretched tight across the breadth of his shoulders and chest. Even from 50 feet away, she could tell he was handsome...too handsome. 

The slam of her car door jarred them both, and Y/N glanced away, taking a breath before she looked back up at him. Barnes seemed to shuffle slightly, uncomfortable, before offering a weak smile and a slight wave. Before she could say anything, he turned and walked back up the driveway into his house. 

Y/N frowned, feeling slightly rejected. But oh well.

She didn’t come here for boys.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring a meet-cute and secondhand embarrassment. As always, let me know if you like it!

“We have a few appointments set for today,” Charlotte, the front desk nurse, was saying. “But they’re just wellness checkups, so nothing crazy.”

Y/N nodded, tucking a pen into the pocket of her lab coat. “So these are regular patients?”

Charlotte nodded. “Yep, the usual. It’s a small town, so you’ll see the same faces plenty while you’re here.” She sipped water from her large tumbler as she pulled a floral desk calendar from under her keyboard. “But we also provide some urgent care services, since it’s a 30 minute drive to the nearest emergency room. So don’t be surprised when we get some walk-ins.” 

“That’s alright I guess,” Y/N shrugged. “Good to stay busy.”

To say she was nervous about her first  _ real _ day as a  _ real  _ doctor would be an understatement. Sure, she wouldn’t have many patients - not in a primary care clinic in the middle of nowhere - and the stakes were probably low, but still. She had tossed and turned the night before, eventually hopping out of bed at 5:00 am and slipping her running shoes on. Jogging through her little neighborhood and down the highway for an hour or so before dawn had transferred her first day jitters into adrenaline, but she couldn’t distract herself now. This was the real deal. 

But it turned out the real deal moved at a glacial pace - at least in a town like this. Y/N saw a grand total of 5 patients, all of whom were in mostly good health, with the exception of one boil that needed lancing. The rest were just fine, a bit chatty when they met their new doctor, undoubtedly a subject of town gossip. They were eager to fill her in on the local news and suggest churches and social clubs for her to try. She nodded and made noncommittal comments to every invitation. No unscheduled patients had wandered in either, so she had far too much down time to sit in her office and refresh her inbox, waiting for emails from friends and former colleagues as they all settled in to new lives and new cities and new hospitals. None came.

Y/N sighed as she climbed into her car, and leaned her head back against the seat. Doing nothing was almost more exhausting than being busy. She just wanted to get home, pour a glass of wine, and lay around on her couch. And eat dinner. Which she would have to cook...with groceries she didn’t have. Fuck.

Grocery store it is.

Even a remote town like this one managed to have a Walmart somehow - not a huge one, but big enough to have the necessities. The fluorescent lighting made the inside of the store look dingy and gray, desperately in need of a remodel. Y/N pushed her cart up and down the aisles, grabbing items at random now that her growling stomach made everything look appetizing. She made sure she had quick ingredients for the night’s dinner - a simple chicken spaghetti, a mouthwatering recipe from her best friend.

She turned up the baking aisle, ready to head back to the front of the store. While mentally calculating the time left standing between now and her dinner, a box on the right caught her eye. Top shelf. Brownie mix. Supreme fudge.  _ Oh hell yeah. _

The shelf seemed a little high at first glance, but surely they wouldn’t put common items like brownie mix out of reach of the customer? Y/N left her cart parked in the middle of the aisle and stepped up to the shelf, lifting up on her tiptoes and stretching her arm as far as she could. The tips of her fingers could just touch the bottom of the box, but it wasn’t enough to get a grip on it. Tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth, she strained harder, her other hand gripping the lower shelves for support. No dice.

A little grunt of frustration passed her lips and she stepped back, hands on her hips. Now it was just a matter of pride - she couldn’t just give up and walk away from these brownies. That was more pathetic than buying them and eating the batter alone in her kitchen, which was her original plan. With a sigh, she stepped back up to the shelf and jumped, trying to knock the box over into her hand. The first attempt failed, as did the second, but on the third she managed to tap the box enough to make one corner stick out a quarter inch over the edge of the shelf. Just as she was preparing for one last jump to claim her prize, she heard a throat clearing behind her. 

She whipped around, feeling exposed as she had left her dignity behind before the first desperate hop for her brownie mix. Her cheeks burned even hotter as she met the eyes of her witness...her very tall, handsome witness. Broad shoulders under a buttery soft leather jacket, his long hair brushing the collar and 

_ Oh shit that’s my neighbor _

“Um,” he smiled, shifting his weight. “Do you need some help with that?” He gestured to the frustrating box on the top shelf. 

Y/N’s brain needed a moment to catch up - she hadn’t yet seen him this close, hadn’t heard his voice, hadn’t seen him at all since that one moment in the driveway on the afternoon she arrived. He was a lot to take in. 

“Yeah, uh sure,” she backed up from the shelf and pointed. “It’s that one. The, um, ‘supreme fudge’ kind.” 

His smile widened ( _ was that a dimple? _ ) and he stepped forward, easily reaching up and plucking the mix from its place. Y/N forced her eyes away from his abs as his t-shirt lifted away from the hem of his jeans. When he turned back and offered her the box, his bright blue eyes were on her face. 

“Here you go. One supreme fudge,” he teased, smirk creeping up the side of his mouth. Y/N took the box with both hands and held it to her chest.

“Thanks, you’re a real life-saver,” she laughed, self-conscious. 

“And here I thought that was your job?” 

Y/N’s brow wrinkled, until he nodded towards her clothes and she remembered she was still wearing her scrubs.

“Oh! Right,” she wrinkled her nose in embarrassment. “Well, I definitely didn’t save any lives today, so. You’re doing better than me.”

“Hm. I doubt that.”

The conversation lulled, but he stayed planted in front of her cart. He settled his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, seeming to have no intention of leaving. Y/N took a deep breath and forged ahead.

“It’s...Mr. Barnes I think? I’m sorry I never got a first name.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, it’s just, uh, just Bucky. How’d you know…?”

“Oh, Mr. Van Horn told me you were my neighbor when he gave me the keys the other day. I’m living in his mother’s house -”

“Across the street, yeah!” he blurted, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “That’s how I recognized you, I just couldn’t place it.” He shook his head, laughing at himself. “God, I’m sorry, must’ve seemed rude, I didn’t even introduce myself or ask your name.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she waved him off, sticking her hand out and giving him her name, still relishing the ‘Dr.’ title. “But you can just call me Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, his grip gentle but firm. His eyes flicked back and forth between hers, bright and searching. He took a breath to say something else, when his gaze shifted, locking on something behind her. His posture stiffened and he jerked his hand back, jaw tightening.

“See you around,” he said coldly, shoulder bumping hers as he strode past her down the aisle. Y/N turned in confusion, trying to see what had changed his mood so abruptly. But the only thing she could see at the end of the aisle was a discarded candy wrapper, soon crackled under Bucky’s heavy boot. Then he was gone.

Y/N’s lips pursed in a frustrated pout.  _ Two strikes Barnes.  _

That night, as she sipped wine from her grandma bed in her grandma house, she scrolled through social media on her phone in a vain attempt to feel close to her friends. Engagement, pregnancy, travel, engagement. Scoffing, she tossed her phone to the side and hunkered down in the bed. She stared at the popcorn ceiling, tiny glitter particles glinting in the lamplight. The wine in her glass was drained to the last drop and she twirled the stem absentmindedly. 

She went over the scene in the baking aisle again and again, wondering if she had said something wrong and offended Bucky somehow. His dismissal was just so strange. On a whim, she snatched up her phone again and typed his name into Facebook. A few Bucky Barnes’s, but none that looked like him. She tried Instagram and Twitter with the same result. No social media presence, in this day and age? So fucking strange. 

Outside the house, an engine started up, revving a couple of times before the sound retreated down the street. 

_ Good riddance. _

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! Sorry for the slightly late update - I was out of town over the weekend. Things definitely start to pick up in this chapter. As always, let me know what you think!

Three weeks. Three whole weeks. 

It had been 23 days since Y/N moved out to the middle of nowhere, and 20 days since she had taken over her tiny clinic. She had seen tick bites and viral infections and strep throat and cysts. She had passed out prescriptions and signed insurance papers and given flu shots. She had unpacked all of her clothes into the tidy wardrobe and closet, once the mothball smell finally dissipated. And she had spent every single night alone in her house. 

Y/N had thought that having roommates all through college and medical school was a necessary evil - though she always got along with them, the real dream was having a place all to yourself, right? No one coming in or leaving at odd hours, no one stealing your leftover takeout. No one to talk to. Ever. 

If she had to spend one more night scrolling through Netflix by herself, she was going to jump in front of a semi. 

Which was why she was standing in front of a now-full closet, flipping through dresses and shirts to wear, discarding and debating her options. When Charlotte had informed her of Back to School fair this weekend, Y/N had practically wept with joy. Charlotte was planning to take her two boys, Ethan and Caleb, and welcomed Y/N to join them for the evening - she jumped at the chance to do  _ something _ , go  _ somewhere. _ To wear something other than  _ scrubs. _ That was probably why she had been in front of her closet for 20 minutes now - there were so many options when she hadn’t been able to wear her fun clothes in nearly a month. 

She settled on a sundress and sneakers and made it out the door on the tail of an “On my way!” text to Charlotte. 

The fairground normally doubled as a public park and playground on the outskirts of town. As she pulled into the vacant field across the street and parked her car, Y/N marvelled at the sheer volume of activity they were able to fit into such a small park. There was a ferris wheel, a swing ride, and one of those spinning g-force rides with a blinking sign that read ‘Gravitron’. The overwhelming smell of popcorn and fried foods drifted on the afternoon air, promising the most nostalgic foods imaginable. Carnival games and craft booths filled the park, boasting prizes and homemade goods. 

Charlotte was waiting next to a white gazebo at the front of the park, a young boy with curly dark hair standing next to her. She caught sight of Y/N approaching from across the street and waved, her smile big and bright. Y/N waved back, jogging across the street to get out of the way of an oncoming truck. 

“Hi,” she greeted, slightly out of breath. “I hope I’m not late?”

“Oh no! We just got here,” Charlotte smiled her easy smile, squeezing the boy’s shoulder. “This is my younger son, Caleb. He’s 10.” Caleb lifted his hand and quirked his mouth shyly.

“Hello, Caleb, nice to meet you,” Y/N gave him her warmest smile. “Don’t you have an older brother somewhere?”

“Yeah,” Caleb nodded, frowning a little. “But mom let him go with his friends.”

“Well, sorry baby, but 10 is just not old enough for boys to go off unsupervised,” Charlotte rolled her eyes fondly. “When you’re 13 you can run around with your buddies like Ethan. Until then, you’re stuck hanging out with your very cool mom.”

Y/N stifled her laughter as Caleb sighed a long suffering sigh. Charlotte just winked.

“Now, come on, I’m dying for some lemonade.”

The three of them had a blast exploring the fair; in spite of having only two adult females for company, Caleb certainly enjoyed himself, indulging in fried oreos and corndogs and sodas, and somehow still managing to hold it down when they rode the swings. Y/N won a small pocket knife in a ring toss game, which she talked the carnie into trading back for a superhero action figure that Caleb could play with. They sipped lemonade and listened to the live music from a country singer they had never heard of. 

“Mom, can we go on the ferris wheel now?” Caleb asked, urgently tugging on her sleeve. “Look, the line is really short!” 

“Honey, I think the cars only take two riders…” Charlotte trailed off, her meaning understood. She didn’t want to leave Y/N sitting out, or sitting with a stranger.

“No, no - don’t worry about me! I can stay right here and watch your things anyway,” Y/N insisted. “Really, I don’t mind. I’m not a big fan of heights anyway.”

Charlotte seemed unsure, but after a bit more coaxing she let Caleb drag her away to the ferris wheel before the lines got long again. Y/N smiled watching them go, licking the powdered sugar off her fingers from her funnel cake. They had had a fun afternoon, but she felt she should let them spend some time together with just the two of them. 

Wringing an overused napkin in one hand, she scrolled through the photos on her phone. Between the late afternoon sun and the fairground backdrop, she had taken some nice pictures. She should post one on Instagram, probably. Just to let everyone know she was still alive. Her thumb swiped through her phone and tapped on the app, pulling up a timeline full of bright smiles and baby photos.

“ _ WE GOT A DOCTOR HERE?!” _

Y/N’s head whipped around so fast her neck popped. Who said that?

“ _ MY FRIEND NEEDS HELP! ARE THERE ANY DOCTORS HERE?” _

A dark-skinned man in a blue t-shirt was running in between picnic tables and shouting, turning back and forth in his search.

“I am! I’m a doctor!” Y/N shot up from the bench, maneuvering around her purse and Caleb’s prizes. She waved a hand at the man. “Over here!”

His face briefly softened in relief, then intensified again as he jogged between tables towards her and grabbed her wrist.

“This way, doc, he’s really bleeding a lot,” he said over his shoulder, weaving between couples and children and cotton candy vendors. Y/N’s heart pounded, adrenaline sharpening her focus.

“Have you called an ambulance already? If it’s more than I can handle, they’d better be on their way - the hospital is too far.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he gave a sharp nod. “But somebody told me we had a new doctor in town - figured it was worth a shot to see if you were out here tonight.”

They rounded a shooting gallery game and she saw him, sprawled out on the grass and face covered in blood. That would be the patient, she assumed. Blood flowed from a gash on his forehead, slicking his face and neck like something out of a slasher flick. He was conscious, sputtering and spitting blood from his mouth as he tried to talk to the man that was holding his head and shoulders in his lap. Y/N was at his side in a second.

“How did this happen?” she questioned, all business. 

“Uh, he fell, hit his head on one of the stakes holding up the tents,” the man holding her patient’s head spoke up.

_ Lie. _ A very obvious one, but fine. Without sparing the other man a glance, Y/N leaned forward over the bleeding man’s face.

“Sir, can you hear me? I’m a doctor, I’m going to have a look at this cut, alright?”

“ ‘kay,” he mumbled, nodding. The blood around his lips was starting to dry and crack. 

Y/N glanced around, looking for something to stop the bleeding. With no other options, she unwrapped the denim shirt from her waist and pressed it to the man’s forehead, using both hands to increase the pressure. She turned to the man who had come to find her, hovering nearby and chewing his lip.

“I’ll need something to clean this with. Just warm water is fine if you can find it. Once I clean the blood off we’ll see if he needs stitches.” Nodding once, he disappeared into the crowd once again. Y/N turned back to her patient, lifting the shirt lightly to examine the bleeding.

“Sure bleeds like a bitch, don’t it?” 

She actually  _ jumped _ when the other man spoke - she had paid no attention to him, other than noting that he was holding his friend's head. She looked up.  _ You’ve got to be fucking kidding me- _

“We keep meeting in weird ways,” Bucky smiled ruefully at her from under his baseball cap. She blinked. Turned back to the matter at hand.

“I’d say this is a little different than shopping for brownie mix,” Y/N muttered. Who did he think he was, acting like this was some kind of meet-cute? And after the way he acted in the grocery store?

“You’re telling me,” he chuckled. His laugh jostled his friend’s head and shoulders a bit and the man groaned.

“Buck, stop flirtin’,” he said, exasperated. “You’re distracting the doctor.”

“Believe me, I’m the furthest thing from distracted.” Y/N rolled her eyes.

Bucky looked like he was about to say more, but then their other friend returned with water, towels, and a small first aid kit. They were helpful and followed her instructions while she cleaned the wound and wiped the rest of the man’s face - he was nearly as handsome as Bucky under all that blood, with a straight nose and sharp square jaw. She used a little disinfectant around the area and chewed her lip as she examined the edges of the cut.

“It looks like you’ll need stitches, Mr…?”

“Rogers. Steve Rogers.” His voice sounded a bit better after they had given him a sip of water. 

“Alright, Steve. Let me unpack the kit here and see if we have a needle,” she nodded, reaching back and flipping the first aid kit open in her lap. Whoever packed the kit must have been a nurse or paramedic of some kind, because they had thankfully included a suture needle and surgical thread. She snapped on a pair of gloves and opened the sterile plastic packet containing the needle. “Sorry, I don’t think I have an anesthetic.”

“It’s alright, doc,” he sighed. “I think the Army might be ashamed of me if I can’t handle a few stitches.”

“He’s had plenty of stitches before - hell, he’s had more than anybody I know,” Bucky piped up. “He can handle it.”

“Thanks a lot, jerk,” Steve scoffed.

“You’re welcome, asshole.”

“Y’all wanna shut up and let the doctor do her job or what?” the other man, Sam, she had learned, glared at them both.

“Alright,” Y/N took a breath and threaded her needle. “If you need to bite something or squeeze something do it, just stay still.”

Steve was a model patient, he didn’t even flinch as the needle tugged the tear in his skin closed, though he hissed through his teeth and clenched his fist down on Bucky’s hand. Sam crouched down next to them and watched intently, but stayed quiet. They watched her work, hands steady and efficient. Y/N enjoyed the focus that came with her work - she blocked out the fair rides and the screaming children and country music. Her vision closed in on the needle and the skin, carefully weaving and tying the wound closed.

When she finished and cut the thread, she sat back on her heels and sighed, shoulders slumping. “Okay, Mr. Rogers. I think you’ll live.”

Steve smiled a crooked, all-American grin. “You’re a miracle worker, doc.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “Just faster than an ambulance. And actually, if you really did hit your head on a metal stake, I think I ought to check for a concussion.”

Bucky and Sam helped tug him to his feet so she could check his coordination and shine her phone flashlight at his pupils. He insisted his head didn’t hurt or feel dizzy, so she cleared him, though they did let the paramedics have a look when they finally arrived. 

A few minutes later she was standing to the side, arms crossed, as she watched the ambulance pull away. She felt more than heard his heavy-booted steps come up beside her, but she didn’t turn to look.

“You did a great job, doc,” Bucky offered, trying to catch her eye.

“Thank you.”

“Lucky you were here.”

“It wasn’t a deep wound, he would’ve been fine waiting for the ambulance.” 

“Still.” He took a half step forward, into her eye line and she turned to face him fully. His expression was full of something she couldn’t quite make out - hope? Admiration? Gratitude? Bucky’s eyes roamed her face, unwilling or unable to move away. The longer she held his gaze, the more she felt that something unspoken was passing between them, something she couldn’t articulate. But it was too much, whatever it was. 

Y/N took a step backward, breaking eye contact as she glanced towards Steve and Sam, sitting at a picnic table 20 feet away.

“Keep an eye out for your friends. Wouldn’t want them to keep falling on sharp objects,” she said, continuing to back away from Bucky. He shifted his feet as if he wanted to follow, but decided against it. Without giving him a chance to speak, she turned on her heel and left.

Caleb spotted her first when she was back in sight of their table. He tugged on his mother’s arm and pointed; Charlotte visibly melted in relief when Y/N met her eyes and waved. 

“We were worried you’d been kidnapped or something!” Charlotte half-joked as she approached. Y/N grimaced, realizing she had left their things out in the open - thank god it looked like nothing was stolen.

“I’m so sorry, there was an emergency, a man had fallen and cut his head,” Y/N rushed to explain, noticing Charlotte’s eyes dart down to her dress. Y/N’s eyes followed. “...and clearly, there was a lot of blood.”

“Jesus. It’s a good thing they found you, huh?” 

“I guess so,” Y/N shrugged lamely.

“Who was it? Did you catch a name?”

“He said Steve Rogers?” She didn’t quite catch Charlotte’s eyes widening as she continued. “His friend was there, Bucky Barnes. He’s my neighbor across the street.”

Charlotte’s face looked pinched and she had a white-knuckled grip on Caleb’s shoulder, but she managed a pained smile.

“Oh. Well I guess you’ll be wanting to head home and get into some clean clothes?” Her words were strained. “We had a great time tonight, see you Monday!” And then she was practically dragging Caleb away at a clipped pace, just slow enough to seem sane. 

_ What the fuck is going on in this town? _

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features a proposition, some explanations, and an intro to a new character :) I'm so glad you guys are liking this story! As always let me know what you think!

Steve flicked the cigarette he was holding and returned it to his lips. Its glowing tip lit his face from underneath as he took a slow drag, then exhaled through his nose, letting the smoke float around his face. 

“She did a damn good job, way better than Barton.”

“Under pressure, too.”

“Does she have anybody here? Family or friends?”

Sam and Steve turned to Bucky, who had his arms crossed while he listened to their exchange.

“No one,” he shook his head. “She’s alone in that house.” 

“That’s good,” Steve nodded. “Less of a risk.”

“So…” Sam looked between the two of them. “We all agree?” Steve raised his eyebrows at Bucky.

“No,” Bucky frowned. “But I know I can’t stop you.”

* * *

A week after the carnival, Y/N finally understood a bit more about her situation. After applying careful pressure to Charlotte, she learned that Mr. Van Horn’s use of the word “gang” was not a stylistic choice: Barnes and his friends run a motorcycle club called the ‘Avengers’ that had quite the reputation around town. Some feverish googling revealed that no criminal charges had ever been filed against the members, but it didn’t stop people from being suspicious. Several local news articles accused them of a string of vandal acts in 4 neighboring counties, spray-painting a skull and crossbones on public buildings and signs. 

Y/N kept a close eye out for her neighbor after that - she listened for his motorcycle leaving the house and planned her own trips around his absence. She had the locks changed on the front door and went to the hardware store for a security alarm for the front and back doors of the house. Still, she was on edge whenever she was at home, alone in her quietly creaking house, with nothing but the sound of the TV for company. She started taking melatonin to help herself get to sleep at night. 

As far as she could tell, Bucky was making no attempt to see her, either. He often left his house late at night and returned sometime after she had left for work, or stayed gone for a couple days at a time. If he worked a real job she couldn’t tell what it was - his comings and goings were so sporadic there was no way he was holding down a 9 to 5 somewhere. In any case, Y/N was just glad that their opposing schedules never allowed their paths to cross.

A week after the carnival, Y/N was sitting in her office at the clinic, filling out invoices for supplies. As a kid, she never imagined being a doctor would involve so much paperwork and planning, but somehow the dull minutiae of “real” jobs would always catch up with you. She puffed out a sigh and leaned back in her chair, refreshing the email page on her desktop. A reminder for a birthday party she wouldn’t be able to attend popped up, along with a student newsletter from her medical college she kept forgetting to unsubscribe to. She went back to her invoices. 

A knock at the door startled her from her pile of paperwork. Charlotte poked her head in.

“Um, exam room 1,” she squeaked, clearing her throat before she continued. “The patient is ready in exam room 1.”

“Oh,” Y/N frowned. “I thought we had seen our scheduled patients already this morning? Is it an emergency visit?”

Charlotte’s eyes darted to the side before she nodded. 

“Alright, then.” Y/N stood from her desk and slipped her lab coat back on. “What am I in for?”

“Um...I think you should just see for yourself.” Charlotte’s voice was tight, an octave higher than usual. She scurried back to her place at the front desk before Y/N could ask her anymore questions. 

With her mind spinning a thousand worst-case scenarios, walked down the hall and opened the door to exam room 1.

_ Fuck. _

The room was practically at capacity with the 3 burly men occupying it. On the exam table, swinging his long legs, was a smiling Steve Rogers; Sam Wilson sat in the chair next to him, browsing a pamphlet on STDs; and leaning against the wall next to the door was the man she tried so desperately to avoid - Bucky Barnes, in the flesh. His thick arms were crossed over his chest as he glared at the other two men, not sparing her a glance.

“Hi, doc.” Steve lifted his hand in a small wave. “I came to check up on my stitches.” Sam looked up over his pamphlet and waved, too. Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed.

“And you needed two friends to come with you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Rogers nodded. 

“We’re here for moral support,” Sam piped up.

“Uh huh.” She glanced at Bucky again, who continued to give her the cold shoulder. “Okay. Should only take a couple of minutes.”

She washed her hands, worked on a pair of gloves, and stepped closer to examine Steve’s forehead. Having three large, and reportedly dangerous, men in one small exam room with her set her nerves on edge. Their complete silence while they watched her certainly didn’t help at all, but she was nothing if not a professional, so she took her pen light from the pocket of her lab coat and leaned into his personal space as if it didn’t bother her. 

“Hm. This has healed up nicely, Mr. Rogers,” she nodded, tucking the light away. 

“Just Steve is fine.”

“Steve, then. Let me just cut these stitches out and then you can be on your way.”

“Sounds good.”

She opened the cabinets above the sink and pulled out some bandages, scissors, tweezers, and alcohol wipes, laying them all out on a moveable tray next to the exam table. She could feel Bucky’s eyes on her and it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Still, he was silent as he kept his place by the door.

While she wiped down the area and started clipping the stitches, Sam made light small talk - asking about her weekend, how she was enjoying the clinic and the town, if she’d be going out of town for Labor Day. Y/N wasn’t quite sure what to make of it all, but gave him polite, short answers. She never asked him about himself, but she’d prefer to stay at arms length of all these men. 

She swiped the cut again with an alcohol wipe and then covered it with a bandage, stepping back from the table.

“Alright, you’re all done, Steve.”

“Thank you, doc,” Steve smiled appreciatively. “You do good work.”

Y/N shrugged, tugging her gloves off and tossing them in the trash.

“It’s not like you really have a lot of options.”

“You’re right,” he nodded, looking at Sam. “Which is why...we have a proposition for you.”

Y/N blinked. Had she heard him correctly? 

“What does that mean?”

“I think you must have heard about us by now, doc,” Sam said, rising from his chair. “The Avengers could use a medic like you.”

“We’re...accident prone,” Steve added. “And as you know, there’s not a hospital nearby, so we’re stuck with having one of our members doing a little first aid whenever we get beat up. But having a real doctor around? Could really save our asses.”

“I’m sorry...what exactly is it that you’re asking me to do?”

“It’s just some extra work on the side. After clinic hours, you’d be available for a member of our club if they needed any medical care. We could come to your place or bring you to the clubhouse, we’ll get you any supplies you need. And of course we’ll pay you.” 

Steve was calm and confident while making his pitch, Sam standing beside him and watching her closely. Y/N’s brain was spinning. They were basically asking her to join their motorcycle club, right? Staying at the clubhouse and patching up their buddies? What the fuck was happening. She looked over at Bucky, who had stayed silent this entire time. His eyes were on her now, and they looked...wary. Tired. It was like he was asking her something but she just couldn’t hear him. 

“No, I’m afraid I’m not interested.”

“Not interested? In getting extra money for doing your job?” Sam’s eyebrows went up.

“My  _ job _ is running  _ this clinic _ , not playing nurse for a biker gang,” Y/N fumed. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “You’ve really got some nerve coming in here and telling me that - but I took out your stitches and answered your question, so I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.”

She crossed her arms, giving the three of them a final glare before opening the exam room door and motioning for them to get out. The men shuffled out, their massive height filling the doorway. Steve glanced at her as he passed.

“If you change your mind, the offer is still on the table,” he said. Then they were gone.

Back in her office, Y/N slumped forward and laid her head on her desk.  _ What the hell was that? _ How was this happening to her? ‘Young doctor moves to a small town, joins a biker gang’ sounded like a really bad premise for a movie. 

She ate her lunch alone at her desk, obsessing over the situation. Joining a biker club was insane. Completely  _ batshit _ . There was no chance in hell she would consider it. But on the other hand...Steve had said they would pay her. How much could they offer? She had to admit, she was weakly tempted by the money. If an extra paycheck helped her pay off her student loans faster, she could get out of here...move back to the city, back to her life. Her texts were full of friends begging her to come back and visit, sad that she was stuck in the middle of nowhere. Besides Charlotte, she hadn’t really managed to make a lot of connections here. It was lonely and hard...and patching up a few bikers on the side for a year or so could get it all over with.

But no, she told herself. Still not worth it. Absolutely not worth getting arrested when the Avengers got busted for drugs or human trafficking or  _ murder _ . These bikers could end up ruining the rest of her life. No way. She’d take the slower, safer route, even if it was more boring. 

Around mid-afternoon, Stacey, one of her other nurses, announced another walk-in patient. 

“He says he wants you to look at his shoulder, he thinks he might have injured it in a football game,” she shrugged. Y/N nodded and slipped into the exam room.

Yet another large, muscular man in her clinic - where was this town getting all of these beefy men? He had removed his leather jacket and was sitting on her exam table in a white t-shirt and jeans; his hair was shaved on the sides and longer on top, slicked back from his forehead, and his arms were covered in tattoos. He had a nice enough face, she thought, even though he looked like his nose had been broken one too many times, and there was something...shifty about him. A little greasy.

“Good afternoon Mr…” she glanced at her chart. “Rumlow, is it?”

“Oh, you can call me Brock,” he smiled, a little sleazy. 

“Okay, Brock. So it’s your shoulder bringing you in today?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay. Let’s have a look then.”

He nodded and pulled off his shirt before she could tell him not to, revealing even more tattoos across his muscled skin. He turned halfway, showing her his right shoulder.

“Oh, wow. Um, well there’s a lot of bruising here,” she said, stepping closer. The skin all around his shoulder and collarbone was bruised purple and blue. “How did this happen?”

“Playing football with some buddies,” he sighed, turning to give her that smile again. “I guess we like it a little rough.”

“Hm.” She ignored his comment. “Can you rotate it?”

She tested his range of motion, felt the area and asked about his pain. She brought Stacy back in and did an X-ray, to check for a break in his humerus. The results all seemed fine, which was a relief, as she was starting to feel uncomfortable with the way he was looking at her. 

“Well, the good news is that you don’t have any broken bones - I think you just have some really deep bruising from the impact,” she said, putting her X-rays to the side. “So I would advise you to just be gentle with it, take it easy, and put some ice on it every day. The muscles need a little time to heal - so no football for now.”

“Alright, doctor’s orders,” Rumlow raised his hands in surrender.

“Anything else?” Y/N asked politely, ready to be out of the room. 

“Well...now that you mention it,” he said slowly, pulling his t-shirt back over his head. “I was wondering if you were taking on any new patients. No special conditions - other than a sweet tooth, that is.” There was something in his smile, like he knew something she didn’t. She cleared her throat.

“If you’d like for us to keep your information on file, you can ask Charlotte at the front desk and fill out some paperwork,” she nodded. 

“Alright then.” He hopped off the table and turned to slip his jacket back on. She could see a skull and crossbones tattoo on the back of his neck. 

“Have a good day, Mr. Rumlow.”

“Brock.”

“Right.” She held the door for him and was glad when he was down the hallway and out of sight.

* * *

Y/N was in bed by 9:00 that night, too tired to care. Maybe living in an old woman’s house was turning her into the spinster she had always feared. But today was just too much, and she crawled into her bed with her clothes still on and passed out.

She woke to someone pounding on her front door. 

Blearily she glanced at her alarm clock - 2:05 am. Why would someone be here at that hour? The pounding continued as she dragged herself out of her warm covers and stumbled towards the front door, remembering to grab her pepper spray off the lanyard on her nightstand. She crept up to the door on soft, silent feet, waiting for the banging to stop.

“Who is it?” she yelled when they took a break.

“Bucky,” he called, sounding exhausted. “Please, open the door?”

She hesitated, her hand hovering over the knob. This man was the rumored enforcer of a dangerous motorcycle club. She should  _ not  _ help him or be his friend, or let him in to her house at 2 in the morning. 

“Please?” he called again. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I swear. I just...need your help.”

She sighed. Probably more stitches, or a broken hand from punching someone. Y/N turned the lock and swung the door open. Bucky was leaning hunched against the door frame, one of his hands pressed to his stomach. In the glow of the porchlight she could see it was covered in blood, soaking the lower half of his shirt. He looked up weakly when the door opened, giving her an apologetic look.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he panted. “I’m sorry.”

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go!! The story is picking up from here, although the slow burn continues ;) Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!!

“Oh my god…” Y/N gasped. “Get in here, now.”

She helped Bucky into her house, screen door banging behind him. He leaned his weight on her heavily, hissing when her shoulder jarred him a little. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she muttered, 

“S’alright,” he shook his head. “Where d’you want me?”

“Bathroom.”

They stumbled down the hall together, barely able to fit side by side with Bucky’s massive shoulders filling the space. She could feel his blood soaking her clothes, staining the pale pink scrubs she had neglected to take off. She imagined, for a moment, this man dying in her house.

“What happened this time? Another metal stake?”

He grunted, almost a laugh. “Sure, let’s call it that.”

_ Fucking bikers. _

Y/N sat him down on the side of her bathtub and instructed him to peel off his top layers while she went for her first aid kit. She cursed under her breath the whole way, throwing open her kitchen cabinets and shuffling around her dishes and coffee mugs before remembering the kit was under the sink. Grabbing it, she ran back to the bathroom. She stopped right outside the door, eyes closed, breath held. 

_ Please don’t let him die in my house. _

Bucky was still on the edge of the tub, his bloody shirt and jacket dropped inside. His hand was pressed over the wound on his now bare torso, blood smeared from the struggle of taking his shirt off. She had never noticed somehow, all the tattoos that traced from his left shoulder down to his wrist. When he looked up, his eyes were glassy and distant, and she snapped back into focus. 

“Alright. Let’s see it.”

He had definitely been stabbed. Maybe with a metal stake. More likely with a knife - something with a serrated edge, too. The jagged tears in the skin around the wound told her that. It was a bit deep, deeper than she would have liked to be treating from the floor of her bathroom, but this would have to do. Save his life or don’t. 

She got to work, cleaned him up and ruined towels and disinfected and stitched. Bucky managed to stay conscious through it all, mumbling about everything she asked: the Army, his family, his elementary school. His shaking fingers gripped the edge of her tub, keeping him upright. She took note of the other scars, big and small, all over his body - at least, what she could see of it. She didn’t ask which were from the Army and which from the Avengers.

She tucked old sheets over the cushions of her couch, fluffed up some extra pillows, and put her patient to bed in the living room. His eyes closed immediately, sweaty hair bunched up under his neck. She watched him for a minute, waited for his breathing to slow. 

He grabbed her hand before she could leave.

“Y/N,” he sighed, eyes still closed. “Thank you.”

She didn’t say a word. 

* * *

Bucky Barnes was a lucky man. 

He knew this. Even when he got dealt a shitty hand in life, he always managed to stay in the game long enough for things to turn around. That was how he had made it this long, even with every dangerous choice he made, every time he looked at his cards and chose not to fold, to up the ante a little bit. That was how he got to Y/N’s house last night without bleeding out and crashing his motorcycle, how she was home and agreed to help him. He was one  _ goddamn lucky sonuvabitch. _

When he woke to the sound and smell of frying bacon, he was thinking about that, luck. He thought that with just a little bit more of it, he could’ve been waking up to this all the time - a quiet home, a woman cooking breakfast in the kitchen. For better or worse, his luck had never gotten him quite that far.

Y/N found her patient lying awake on the couch, staring at the dusty ceiling fan. 

“Good morning,” she greeted, sitting on the coffee table in front of him.

“Mm. Mornin’,” he croaked. His throat felt like sandpaper. Without asking, Y/N held out a cup of water with a straw. He took it and slurped.

“Thanks,” he said, clearing his throat and shifting against the pillow. She just raised her eyebrows.

“I think you owe me a lot more than ‘thanks’.”

“I know, doc. I know.” Bucky shuffled back against the cushion. “But can I use your bathroom first?”

Y/N helped him hobble down the hallway, threatening to let him die alone if he popped his stitches. She stood outside the door when he protested that he could manage to pee by himself, sighing as she heard him curse under his breath when he hit his toe on the edge of the cabinet, and listening to the sink run.

When he reappeared in the bathroom doorway, he looked better. He had splashed some water on his face, if the droplets running down his neck were anything to go by. Her eyes followed them and she remembered that he was still shirtless, with only a bandage covering his injury. His tattoos were stark against the rest of his olive-colored skin. 

She realized she was staring when he cleared his throat.

“I was just making breakfast,” she blurted, letting him prop himself up on her shoulder without a glance at his face. “Are you hungry?”

“Well, I’m not gonna say no to whatever that is that smells so good.” She could hear the smile in his voice, but still didn’t look at him. She settled him in his spot on the couch and hurried off to the kitchen to make a plate. 

Y/N gathered a cup of coffee and a full plate of eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast onto a beautiful tray she was sure had never been used. A part of her, a little voice in the back of her head, watched from the outside and couldn’t believe what she was doing - making coffee and bringing breakfast in bed, playing house with a (suspected)  _ criminal _ . She did her best to ignore it. 

She watched from her perch on the coffee table as Bucky tucked into his breakfast, eager and appreciative with every bite. 

“So. You made it through the night, and your appetite is good, which means you probably won’t be dying on my couch,” Y/N began, as Bucky forked a couple of potatoes. “I think this means you can start telling me what the hell is going on around here.”

Bucky eyed her, guilt heavy in his gaze, and laid down his fork. He sipped his coffee, turning his face away from her, his jaw tightening. 

“I know...that you deserve some answers,” he said, after a minute of silence. “And I know it ain’t right showing up like this, dragging you into our shit. For the record, I never wanted - I didn’t want to ask  _ you _ .”

“Ask me what?”

“To help out the Avengers. Be our medic, whatever the hell you wanna call it. They should’ve left you out of it.”

“Well we agree on that point.”

Bucky shook his head.

“No, you don’t understand-”

“Then fucking  _ explain! _ ” Y/N threw her hands up in frustration. Bucky sighed, staring at her with sad eyes. He pushed the tray back, finished with his plate, and leaned as far forward as his wound would allow.

“I…” he sucked in a deep breath, tensing up his body. “I’ll tell you some things. As much as I can, alright? But, for your safety...the less you know the better.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Sure, fine, whatever. Just get on with it.”

Bucky nodded and blew out another breath, settling back against the couch again and running a hand through his long hair. He shifted a little, chewed on his bottom lip and picked at the fabric of his jeans. Took another sip of his cooling coffee. Finally, he settled a soft gaze on her and began his story.

“We’re not what you think we are.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows.

“Well, okay, we are a motorcycle club,” he corrected, raising a hand. “But, we’re not...those articles, the things on the internet, that’s not us. We aren’t vandals or thieves, or whatever else they’re saying about us around town.”

“How about murderers? Drug traffickers?”

Bucky huffed out a laugh. “No, of course not.” Y/N wasn’t laughing. He continued.

“Look - shit I’m bad at this. Lemme start over,” he shook his head. “Me and Steve, we’ve been best friends since we were 6 years old. When we got out of high school, we went straight into the Army together. Didn’t really know what else to do, ya know? And there’s money for college with the military, so. But when we got out, still had no idea what we were gonna do. I had worked in a garage in high school, and we always liked working on motorcycles together...over time, we had sort of a group so we decided to make it a real motorcycle club. And then...when we moved out here…”

He paused for a moment, working his jaw. Y/N noticed that he couldn’t keep his eyes on her, couldn’t maintain eye contact. 

“...when we moved out here, I guess three years ago now, we overlapped territory with some bad people. Club called Hydra - but their leader goes by Crossbones. They’re...Y/N, they’re everything you thought our club would be. Violent, ruthless. Cruel. They’ve managed to keep their names and activities out of the press, somehow, since the Avengers are more visible. We get blamed for everything. But we try to stop them, where we can, and that’s how we end up getting into...accidents.”

“Mm. Accidentally running into knives.”

“Yeah,” he gave her an awkward grimace. “And - well, I shouldn’t really tell you more than that. You’ve gotta believe me, I would never have dragged you into any of this. You could be in danger just from bein’ seen with me - these people, Hydra, they wouldn’t hesitate to-” He cut himself off with a shake of his head, eyes wide and pleading. Y/N felt ice drip down her spine. Suddenly she was more scared of what he didn’t say, wouldn’t say. 

“Well, it’s a little late for that isn’t it,” she sighed coldly, crossing her arms.

His eyes, those  _ damn eyes _ . He was begging her to believe him, and the worst thing was that she  _ did. _ Not all of it, not every turn of his vague and incomplete story, but there was just something about it, about him. She wanted to trust him. Even when he had just told her that he could get her killed. 

“Alright then.”

“Alright?” His eyebrows went up.

“I believe you,” she shrugged.

“You do?”

“I mean, not all of it. You’ve got some pretty big holes in your story. But maybe you’re not a criminal.”

He practically melted with relief, his posture relaxing as he sagged against the couch. A rueful smile stretched up the corner of his mouth. 

“I - thank you, that really means a lot.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, standing and gathering up his tray. “Now get some rest. That’s enough talking for now.”

* * *

Bucky had been out cold for three hours now, and Y/N was pacing back and forth in her kitchen. 

Okay, so maybe he could explain things. Some things. Didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. His friends were dangerous. His  _ enemies _ were even more so. In spite of her best efforts to ignore him, he was now napping on her couch as he recovered from an injury. So much for that. 

She refilled her coffee cup for the fifth time, ignoring the trembling in her fingers and wondering what in the  _ hell _ she was actually going to do about this. It’s not like she could call the cops - what would she tell them? That she helped a wounded man? And she had no one here, no friends, no family. No one she could run to for help. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the front door. 

Bucky slept through it, his faint snores coming steadily from the couch as she crept through the living room. She couldn’t imagine who would be coming to her house, let alone on a Saturday, but she poked her head around the door anyway.

“Hello!” Mr. Van Horn waved through the screen door.

_ Shit. _

“Oh, hi!” Y/N waved nervously, stepping out onto the porch and pulling the front door nearly closed behind her. “Hi, Mr. Van Horn, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you’d be stopping by today?”

“Oh, of course, I’m sorry I didn’t call - hope I didn’t wake you up or anythin’,” he frowned apologetically. “Was just droppin’ by to check on things? See if you were all settled?”

“Yes, I’m - I’m all moved in, doing just fine,” she shrugged, trying to keep things light and talk him off her porch as quickly as possible. “Everything’s just fine.”

“Well, that’s what I like to hear,” the old man smiled, adjusting his John Deere cap. “And what about your clinic? Everything going alright?”

_ Oh god please just leave before coming inside and finding the man who bled on your mother’s carpet. _

“Sure, sure, nothing too crazy. Just, you know, trying to stay busy.” She smiled, bright and fake, unsure how much longer she could keep making small talk before etiquette required her to invite him inside. 

She was spared and condemned by the revving of motorcycle engines up the road.

They turned at the same time to see them, three bikes speeding down the small residential street, their riders dressed all in black and covered in helmets. Mr. Van Horn finally seemed to notice the Harley parked in the driveway, and his eyes slid between the bike and Y/N and the newcomers, mouth puckering in a confused frown. When the bikes pulled up next to the curb in front of the house, he half turned back to her.

“What on earth have you gotten yourself into, girl?” he muttered. 

She stared at him, at her uninvited guests, speechless. Asked herself the exact same question as she watched Steve Rogers pull of his helmet and dismount his bike, eating up the driveway in long strides. Sam Wilson followed, flanking him, and a woman - beautiful, with bright red hair.

“Afternoon,” Steve smiled tightly, his greeting directed more to Y/N than to the old man standing next to her. He gave a small nod to Mr. Van Horn, but kept his gaze on her. “How is he?”

She crossed her arms across her chest, an afternoon breeze bringing out goosebumps along her arms. 

“Fine. Resting.”

Steve nodded, then made for the front door. His friends followed a half-step behind, Sam giving Y/N a small nod and a wave. They were swinging open the screen door and slipping inside before she could protest. 

When she looked back at Mr. Van Horn, he was already watching her. 

“I sure as hell hope you know what you’re doing,” he sighed, and walked back to his truck.

* * *

“So, he’s going to fully recover?”

“As far as I can tell, yes. But all I did was patch him up in a bathroom, he should have a real examination at the clinic - better yet, a hospital.”

“Hm. Looks like I’m still stuck with your sorry ass, Barnes.” Sam Wilson slumped in an armchair next to the couch. Bucky flipped hims off, frowning.

“He’s lucky -  _ we’re _ lucky - you’re around,” the woman, Natasha, spoke up. “He would have died last night without your help.”

“Yes, I think that’s pretty obvious,” Y/N frowned. 

“The point is,” Steve came around the corner from the kitchen, holding a glass of water. “That we need you. Life or death. You’re smart, you’re good at your job, you’re great under pressure. It’s that simple - you’re the best option we have.”

“Just because I’m a good doctor - which I  _ am _ \- doesn’t mean I want to join a  _ biker gang. _ You’re all crazy!” She gestured to Bucky, propped up against the arm of the couch. “He almost  _ died _ last night, and that’s just a casual Friday to you! You’re fucking insane!”

“We’re a biker gang that can pay you,” Steve countered.

“Enough that you could pay off your student loans in half the time,” Natasha added. Y/N’s gaze snapped to her, brows furrowed, but Natasha only shrugged. “I do my research. I know you wouldn’t be out here, in the middle of nowhere, if it weren’t for the deal to let the clinic pay off your debt. Let us do it, and you can get out of here in 2 years, tops.”

Y/N was struck dumb, both by the size of the offer and the starkness of it. The opportunity. They were offering her thousands,  _ tens _ of thousands, just to be a part time field medic for a couple of years? They needed someone that badly? The way they were all looking at her, she knew the offer was serious. 

“If I say yes…” she spoke slowly, tasting the apprehension on her tongue. “You agree that I have a limited contract? I do the work, I get the money, and then I’m gone. I’m taking 2 years as a guarantee.”

“Agreed.” Steve nodded immediately.

“You won’t try to keep me hear? Withhold money? Blackmail or kidnap me?”

Sam and Bucky chuckled a bit at her comment, but Y/N was dead serious, holding Steve’s gaze. 

“You have my word,” Steve crossed a hand over his heart. “You’re free to go whenever you want, money or no money.”

Y/N turned and looked out her front window, the blinds opened to the afternoon sunshine. The grass of her lawn was still a brilliant green, the late summer hum of insects still loud and strong, the sun warm. She thought of her old apartment, summers with the windows open and dining  _ al fresco _ and her friends sipping beer on the fire escape. 

She stuck out her hand. Clasped Steve Rogers’ in a tight grip.

“Fine. We have a deal.”

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not totally satisfied with this one, but posting anyway! Let me know what you think!!

“You are coming up for the shower next month, aren’t you? I don’t think Sarah sent you an invitation but she told me to ask you.”

Y/N tilted the receiver of her phone away from her mouth and sighed. 

“I’ll try to make it, Mom. It’s just a really long drive for a weekend.”

“Well, sure. I understand, honey.” Her mother wouldn’t say she was disappointed, but Y/N could practically feel it through the phone. “Just...let me know okay?”

“Sure, I will.”

“Everything at the clinic still going okay? Have you met any friends?”

She thought about that for a second - slow days at the clinic, the new group of not-technically-criminals that had somehow adopted her. 

“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine.”

* * *

Having never been a medic for a biker gang, she was a little unsure what to expect. How often would they need her? What would the hours be like? Were they trying to induct her into the gang? For several days after she accepted the Avengers offer, Y/N bit her nails and paced and worried over it, agonizing over her decision. She waited for them to show up on a daily basis with life-threatening injuries and half-baked explanations. She took to hovering near the reception desk at the clinic, watching for them to come through the door.

But, to her surprise, everything stayed quiet. 

Bucky was helped from her couch and back to his own by Steve and Sam, and she checked on him for a week or so, monitoring how his wound healed. But beyond that, the Avengers made themselves scarce. They had made such a fuss about needing her, recruiting her, that she anticipated they would practically want her moving into the clubhouse. The fact that they were mostly leaving her alone felt...suspicious. She waited for the calm to break, for a storm to hit.

By the time Natasha Romanoff walked into her clinic, Y/N was starting to wonder if this mysterious club needed her at all. 

You couldn’t help but notice when a woman like Natasha entered a room - all full lips and hourglass figure and studded leather jacket. She breathed confidence into that tiny waiting room with every step of her motorcycle boots, pushing her sunglasses up to hold back that sweep of fiery hair. Much to her frustration, Y/N noted she felt slightly intimidated as the redhead strutted her way up to the reception desk. 

Natasha’s eyes slid past Charlotte, whose mouth was hanging open, and directly to Y/N, standing slightly further back as she put away a set of files. Her smile was picture perfect.

“Good afternoon, doctor.” She tilted her head to the side and raised a brow. “Any plans for the night?”

And that was the story of how Y/N found herself on the back of a motorcycle for the first time. 

Heart in her throat, hands around Natasha’s waist, they sped down the highway taking turns at a speed that made her close her eyes. They had stopped off at her house first, letting her take her car home and change. Natasha tossed a spare helmet her way and they were off. 

“The clubhouse” they called it, and she had no idea what to expect, what it would look like. Her brain could conjure up plenty of ideas, and none of them were particularly pleasant. In her head, she saw a ramshackle dive bar overflowing with men who could only be described as sketchy, complete with too much booze and loud rock music. 

_ But you signed up for this, _ she reminded herself. Couldn’t turn down the money. 

“Almost there!” Natasha’s muffled voice shouted over the wind. The road ahead of them took a long, banking curve around a newly-cut cornfield, and then she saw it. 

The motorcycles parked around the building were a dead giveaway. For the most part, it wasn’t as seedy-looking as she expected - the clubhouse looked like a dated community center with its painted brick and metal roof. A sign by the door proclaimed it as the “Avengers M.C.”, and a few neon beer signs hung nearby. Scattered near the door were a handful of smokers, all in leather jackets, who looked up as Natasha pulled into the parking lot. She parked the bike close to the entrance and leaned up, prompting Y/N to pull her arms away.

“Don’t be nervous in there, okay?” Natasha said, smoothing her hair after she removed her helmet. “They’re a pretty chill bunch, and they know not to bother you.”

“They do?” Y/N handed her helmet to Natasha and swung her leg off the bike. 

“Sure. Steve and Bucky gave ‘em this whole speech - basically, if they mess with you they’ll get their asses kicked.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Why should they care? It put her back up a little bit, that these strange men felt they needed to protect her for some reason. She’d been taking care of herself long enough, she’d be just fine. 

When Y/N walked into the club behind Natasha, though, she changed her mind. Eyes were on her from every corner of the place, turning from pool games and poker and TV to watch her as they crossed the room to find a bar at the back. The back of her neck prickled at the feeling of every gaze on her, and she subconsciously took a step closer to Natasha. 

They leaned up against the bar, club members moving aside to make a space for them, and Natasha gave a winning smile and wave to the man wiping down glasses on the other side.

“Hey, Nat - whiskey?” he asked, already grabbing a bottle from the shelf.

“Make it two, Clint.” Nat turned slightly to Y/N. “You do like whiskey, right?”

“Sure.”

The bartender, Clint, looked more like a dad than a biker in her opinion, but Y/N said nothing as he poured their drinks and slid them across the bar, giving her a kind smile. 

“So, you’re the new medic, right?”

“That’s me.”

“Heard you saved Barnes’ ass a couple weeks ago.”

“She sure did.” 

She jumped at the sound of a voice over her shoulder, having not noticed a presence that close. Bucky smiled when she turned and met his eyes, tucking a strand of his hair back where it had fallen from its low bun. He looked more handsome than the last time she’d seen him - not that she was  _ looking _ \- but not having a life-threatening stab wound will do that to a guy. He had a hoodie on under his same old leather jacket, making him look somehow softer around the edges. As he shuffled onto a stool, he made a quick gesture to Clint, who grabbed another glass and the whiskey. 

“Hi,” he said softly, eyes flicking between hers. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, well. You’ve managed to go nearly two weeks without getting stabbed.”

He grinned as Clint slid him his own whiskey across the bar. 

“I have to get stabbed for you to visit your neighbor?” 

“Afraid so.” 

“Pretty high price, doll.” 

She blinked at the pet name, wondering if she had heard him correctly. Who even says stuff like that anymore? 

“Did you - did you just call me ‘doll’?”

An embarrassed smile curled Bucky’s mouth as he shifted in his seat. 

“Sorry, it sort of slipped out,” he laughed. “Is that okay?”

She tried not to look too terribly pleased when she said “yes”.

Behind them, Nat and Clint shared a smile across the bar. 

* * *

Standing outside the little house, he saw that a light had been left on in the living room. Her car was parked in the driveway, but he knew that no one was home. His lieutenant had seen her leaving on the back of Romanoff’s bike. Probably on her way to that clubhouse. 

It was just like he thought. Took all of 5 minutes for her to get involved with Rogers and his crew.  _ Shame _ , he thought, popping his bubblegum. She seemed like a smart girl. Pretty, too. 

But, oh well. She made her choice.

* * *

  
  


“What do you  _ mean _ you’ve never seen Star Wars? How can a person not see Star Wars? It’s a  _ classic _ !!”

She could barely respond to him, nearly doubled over in laughter. 

“I don’t know, okay! My mom hates sci-fi so that stuff was practically banned from my house.”

“Wow. Wow.” Bucky shook his head. “We’ve gotta fix this. I can’t let you go through life  _ not _ knowing Star Wars, I feel like this is my responsibility now.”

They fell into conversation so easily, she wondered why he had barely spoken to her before. In minutes he had her in stitches and smiles, always asking her about herself and listening with that intent look in his eyes. Bucky had made her laugh more in the last couple of hours than she had in...months, maybe longer. It was just so  _ easy _ to talk to him. Like they’d known each other for years. 

“Fine then, Barnes - my sci-fi education is in your hands.”

The clubhouse had slowly emptied over the course of the evening, until only a handful of them were left. Bucky and Y/N had moved from the bar to a couple of couches where Steve and Sam dropped down next to them. Clint was in an armchair with Nat perched in his lap, and a girl named Wanda sat in the floor, leaning against Steve’s legs. They had been discussing movies, a hobby of Clint’s, when Y/N had revealed her lack of Star Wars knowledge. As it turned out, Bucky was quite the nerd, wrapped up in tattoos and leather. The others watched them banter with secret smiles, eyes bouncing between the two.

Clint yawned loudly, head falling back in the chair.

“What time is it?” he whined. “I had to get up early this morning.”

“About 11:30,” Sam said, checking his phone. Y/N’s eyebrows went up.

She had spent the entire night with these people, some of whom she had never met before. And all of them seemed so...normal? Granted, a different standard of normal, but still. They passed around beers and shared inside jokes, and made her feel welcome. Made her feel...at home. Glancing between the members of the little circle, she could see how close they were, like a family. And they wanted her here, wanted to bring her in.

She wasn’t sure how to feel about that. 

“Alright, I think I need to be heading home,” she sighed, standing from the couch and stretching. 

“Aw, you’re leaving us?” Wanda pouted from her place on the floor. 

“Yeah, you could just stay over at the clubhouse,” Nat suggested.

“Well,” Y/N shifted, uncomfortable. “I...just really like sleeping in my own bed, you know? And I didn’t bring any extra clothes or anything, so.”

There were a few more protests from the group, but she shot them all down as gently as she could - she couldn’t help it. She just wasn’t ready for a biker sleepover. The only person who didn’t try to convince her was Bucky, who hopped up from the couch and started pulling his jacket on. 

“You leaving too, Buck?” Steve raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, yeah, I -” his cheeks flushed a little. “I thought I’d drive you home.”

Oh. 

“Nat did bring you on her bike right? So you don’t have your car?” He continued.

Y/N had forgotten that, but yes. She did need a ride. And he  _ was _ the most convenient, considering he lived across the street. She watched as he adjusted the sleeves of his hoodie underneath the jacket, pulled the hood out from under the collar. The way he was looking at her, that hopeful little light in his eyes…

“Sure, I guess I do need a ride,” she shrugged, trying to ignore the way his face lit up. 

“Then let’s roll, doc.”

Being on the back of Bucky’s bike felt...different from Nat’s. His was more of a classic body style, a cruiser, with much more room for a second passenger. But more than that, the way she fit perfectly with her legs and arms wrapped around him, it felt - well. It was just different. She wouldn’t let herself choose a word other than that. 

The drive back home was quiet along those stretches of country highway, and she found herself relaxing further, laying her head against Bucky’s back. He reached up and squeezed one of her hands twice, before putting his own back on the handlebar. It should have felt strange - too much, but it didn’t. 

When he pulled up to her driveway, she almost didn’t want to get off the bike. The engine and the night air and  _ Bucky _ had lulled her into a sort of trance. She felt like she was sleepwalking as she slowly shifted back and loosed her hold on him. He held out a hand and helped her get off, his eyes tracking her face. 

“Did you -” he stopped to clear his throat. “Did you have a good time tonight? Hanging out with us, I mean?” 

“I did, actually. They’re not what I expected,” she spoke softly, not wanting to move. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Is that so?” His smile was lazy, sweet. He ducked his head a little, an effort to hide the slight flush in his cheeks.

“Mhm.” She was lingering, waiting in her own driveway for something she wouldn’t name. 

“Well, good night Bucky.” With enormous self-control, she backed away, fishing for her house keys.

“‘Night, doll.” He never looked away from her as she crept away, up the porch, and to her door.

The second she was inside, she knew something was wrong.

She couldn’t put her finger on it, not there in the doorway, but her gut was surging with anxiety. Something - that smell, what was that smell? Not her own, not her house - something here didn’t belong. She shuffled forward in the dark, creeping along the wall until her hand found the lightswitch and-

“Oh my god.”

Her house, her lovely little house was destroyed. Furniture overturned, photos and paintings on the floor, vases broken. There were marks on the walls as though someone had left streaks of paint. Broken glass littered the carpet, turning the room into a minefield. And, oh god, oh god - black spray paint across the far wall-

_ LEAVE WHILE YOU CAN BITCH _

A skull and crossbones underneath.

She wasn’t proud of the way she started to cry.

Bucky could tell something was wrong when Y/N left the door hanging open - a young woman going into her home at midnight doesn’t leave doors open, not one as smart as her. He waited a minute, then two, in her driveway - he told himself it was just a precaution, just in case…

Then he tiptoed up the porch, calling her name; he pushed on her open door, one hand reached for where his gun was tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

She was in the floor, the epicenter, the eye of this hurricane of her furniture and her home and her life. Curled in on herself, Y/N sat with her arms around her knees, breath coming in stutters and tears running down her face. Bucky dropped to his knees in front of her, hand leaving his gun and reaching for her instead.

“Hey, hey you’re okay,” he soothed, hands rubbing up and down her arms. “You’re alright.”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” she kept whispering to herself, lips trembling. It was so hot and her chest was so tight, and she couldn’t - couldn’t  _ breathe. _

Bucky scrambled around on the floor, crawling behind her and wrapping her tight in his arms, locking his legs around her own. He crossed her arms over her chest and pressed her in, in, in - folded her up so he could surround her. With her head tucked under his chin, he rocked her back and forth on the floor.

“Everything’s okay, I’ve got you,” he repeated again and again. He closed his eyes. “I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

_ You’re safe you’re safe you’re safe. _

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels like mostly filler, but it's filler that moves the plot :) As always, let me know what you think!

She sat on Bucky’s couch, both hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. 

He was on the phone in his kitchen, voice harsh and angry, as he had been for the last half hour. When she had finally calmed down from her panic attack, he had scooped her up with a nearby blanket and carried her across the street, settling her on the couch with another blanket. While he brewed coffee and yelled at someone on the phone, she took the opportunity to look around his home - noting the sparse arrangement of furniture, lack of photos on the walls, lack of anything that could really be called  _ decor _ . She watched her own thoughts float by, unattached. How was this a real person’s home? How was she here? What the hell is going on?

Bucky reappeared minutes later, having hung up his phone, and strode to the front door, checking his three locks.  _ Three locks _ , in a town like this, would have seemed like overkill until an hour ago. Until someone upended her house and her life. 

He was still pacing near the door, hands running through his hair and tugging slightly at the roots, breathing deep and measured. However funny and kind he had been at the clubhouse tonight, he was all business now. The scowl on his face deepened as he muttered softly to himself, worry lines etched into his forehead. 

“Bucky?”

Her voice pulled him out of his head, eyes snapping over to her face.

“Can I -” she cleared her throat. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course.” He wiped his hands on his jeans. “It’s just down the hall, on the right.”

She thanked him, leaving the coffee and blankets behind as she stood from the couch and padded down the hall to where he pointed. He watched her go, chewing his lip, eyes strained and sad. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket just as she closed the door. 

** _Steve R._ ** :  _ She’s ok though? _

** _Bucky_ ** _ : Yeah. Shaken up but fine. _

** _Bucky_ ** _ : This was why I didn’t want to do this. You should have listened to me. _

** _Steve R._ ** _ : I know. I’m really sorry. We’re on our way over now. _

** _Bucky_ ** _ : Ok. _

Another buzz.

** _Sam Wilson_ ** _ : Reaching out to Stark. I’ll let you know what I hear from him. _

** _Bucky Barnes_ ** _ : Good. Tell him to move his ass or I’ll take care of it myself. _

** _Sam Wilson_ ** _ : Don’t do anything stupid. We’ll be there in 10. _

Y/N shuffled out of the bathroom, eyes red and glazed, and Bucky shoved his phone back in his pocket. Giving her a shaky smile, he led her back to the couch, sitting on the coffee table - a reversal of their positions just 2 weeks ago. 

“So, listen.” He rubbed her arms a little, reached for the discarded blanket and tucked it around her shoulders again. “I know you’re tired, but I’ve called the police, and we’re going to need to talk to them first, okay? And then you can sleep here on the couch if you want. I called Steve and they’re coming over here - Nat and Wanda can go get some of your things?”

She was only staring at him, not responding, her eyes flitting over his face. 

“Or - well, actually, we could take you to the clubhouse,” he fumbled. “Shouldn’t have assumed, you don’t have to stay here with me. You’d probably be more comfortable with the girls-”

“I wanna stay here,” she blurted, surprising both of them. She blinked a few times, throat working to swallow. “I’d...rather stay here...with you. If that’s okay?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, of course that’s okay.”

When the police arrived, they questioned her much less than she imagined - who had access to her house and how long was she gone and were there any valuables missing. A kind-looking detective with a thick mustache patted her hand and kept her interview short, while a couple more officers went through the house, taking in the scene. 

“Now, Doctor,” the detective, O’Conner, sighed heavily. “Can you think of anybody who wants you gone? The graffiti says ‘leave now’. Who wants you to leave?”

Y/N licked her lips, eyes sliding to Bucky who was standing near the hall with his arms crossed. He had refused to leave during the interview, and the officer hardly protested, preferring to get on with the investigation. But what could she say - how much was she allowed to say? She’d joined a biker gang and now had a target on her back? She might be in danger because of the Avengers, but what would happen to them - to her - if she ratted to the cops? 

“Doctor?” Detective O’Conner was still watching her, his graying eyebrows drawn together. 

“No one,” she shook her head. “No one that I know of, at least. I...I barely even know anybody here.”

O’Conner nodded. “Yes, you mentioned that you had recently moved to the area, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve had no...run-ins with the locals? Made no enemies?”

“No.” 

O’Conner scratched his head and sighed, putting his notebook back in his pocket. 

“Alright then. Well that’s all I needed from you right now. You should get some rest - have you got someplace to stay?”

“She’s staying here.” Bucky piped up, still glowering from his place across the room. Detective O’Conner pursed his lips and nodded. 

“Okay. You folks rest up. We’ll call with any news on the investigation.”

Y/N thanked him and Bucky showed him to the door, leaving his locks undone this time. He glanced over his shoulder at her, tucked into the corner of his couch - smaller than he had ever seen her. 

“So, um,” Bucky scratched his head. “Let me get you some sheets and you can sleep there on the couch, okay?” 

Y/N just nodded, eyes vacant, as he made his way to the linen closet in the hall and pulled out a set of sheets and a quilt. Standing to the side, she watched him spread the sheets over the couch cushions, tucking excess fabric down underneath so it wouldn’t bunch underneath her. The top sheet and quilt followed, with a corner folded down and a pillow beaten to proper fluffiness. A part of her, the part not still in shock, was touched by his efforts. Most of her wanted to pass out. 

She crawled under the covers, let him put the extra throw blanket over her feet when he mumbled something about the living room being cold. He flipped the overhead light switch, leaving only a lamp on in the corner of the room, and let her shift and sigh and settle until she finally grew quiet, breaths slow. He watched her breathe for a few minutes, a crease between her brows even in her sleep. He really hates himself for this. 

Outside the house, he hears Steve and Sam pull up.

* * *

Low voices are floating from somewhere behind her, maybe the next room. She leaves her eyes closed though, content to stay in her hazy dreamlike doze, only half-awake. Scraps of her dreams float behind her eyes - a beach, a faceless man - none perfect but none bad. The quilt is bunched up under her chin, where she had tugged at it in the night when she got cold. Snuggling further into the fabric, she got a deep whiff of the scent, one she didn’t recognize. Did she change detergents? And when did she get a pillow like this? And-

She bolted upright when it all came back. 

The clubhouse.

Bucky’s hips between her legs. 

His eyes when she said goodnight.

Her house. Her  _ house. _

When she rounded the corner into the kitchen, four pairs of eyes were on her. Sam, Steve, and Natasha all sat at Bucky’s kitchen table, with the man himself standing by the sink with a pot of coffee. Their faces ranged from concerned to sympathetic to curious; as they took her in, head to toe, Y/N realized what a picture she must make with her slept-in makeup and messy hair and yesterday’s clothes. She curled in on herself a little, self-conscious, and stayed in the doorway.

Bucky was the first to actually speak.

“Good morning.” He gave her a soft smile. Unlike her, he had changed his clothes - an Army t-shirt and baggy plaid pajama pants, making him look unbelievably soft. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” she croaked, embarrassed at the hoarseness of her morning voice. She cleared her throat. “Yes, thanks. I slept pretty well. What time is it now?”

“Just past 11.” Steve checked his watch. Her eyes nearly popped out of her skull.

“ _ Eleven o’clock?  _ Oh god, oh my god - I’m so late-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky soothed, holding up his hands. “I called the clinic for you this morning and told them about what happened to your house. They’re letting the nurse practitioner cover your patients for today. Everything’s fine.”

“Oh.” Her heart continued its panicked beat as her mind caught up with the situation. “Oh. Okay then.”

“I brought over some of your clothes,” Natasha spoke up, leaning her elbows on the table. “And a toiletry bag. Toothbrush, makeup, that kind of thing. The lock was still broken on your door so I just let myself in - sorry about that.”

“That’s - that’s really nice, thank you.”

“Are you hungry? I can make you breakfast?” Bucky glanced at the clock on the oven. “Or brunch I guess.”

Y/N rubbed her eyes and winced at the crunchy feeling of her mascara. 

“Um, I think a shower first. And then maybe food.”

“Sure, that’s fine,” Bucky nodded. “You can use my bathroom actually - the shower is bigger.” He pointed her to the end of the hallway where his bedroom was. After grabbing her toiletries by the door where Natasha had left them, she scurried off to the shower, eager to wash off the last 24 hours. 

* * *

Bucky waited until he heard the water running before he pulled out his chair and dropped down at the kitchen table.

“So. What the hell are we gonna do about this?”

Steve scratched the back of his neck, looking exhausted. The bags under his eyes pooched further when he stared at the wood of the table.

“Buck, we’re so close. We’ve worked on this for a really long time - we can’t blow it.”

“This will be a huge score for me, too,” Natasha added. She had thrown her hair up into a bun at some point during their all-nighter. “You guys know how Ross has been breathing down my neck on this one.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I say we wait it out and finish the job.”

Bucky’s look was scathing. 

“You’re telling me you wanna fuckin’ let this go? Are you serious right now?”

“There’s a big difference between letting it go and biding our time.”

“Not to her!” 

“Look man,” Sam cut in, holding a placating hand between them. “I know that this felt...personal to you, but there are always risks in this business. You know that.”

“Of course I know that but - fuck - this isn’t about me!” Bucky was incredulous. “How the hell was she supposed to know, really know, the risks of helping us? Huh? Did anybody sit down and spell it out?”

“I mean, you did go over there and nearly bleed out on her couch,” Sam offered. 

“That’s different. That’s not - she wasn’t threatened by that. But this, I mean, they broke into her  _ house _ ! What if she had been home? What if -”

“Buck.” Steve interrupted his tirade, stern eyebrows leveling at his friend. “I think we all appreciate the danger she was in. But I also think...you know how dangerous it is to get attached in this line of work.”

Bucky scowled. 

“I’m not attached. Caring about what happens to an innocent woman is not  _ attached. _ ”

“And it’s really nothing more than that?” Sam challenged, brows tilted in a skeptical look.

Bucky opened his mouth to protest but nothing came out - his words lodged in the back of his throat, threatening to choke him. He gaped at his friends for a moment, floundering.  _ Of course _ that was all it was. There couldn’t be anything more than that. Not for his sake, or for hers. 

Steve sighed heavily, with that world-weary gravitas that never seemed ridiculous on him, and leveled a tired look at his best friend. 

“Whatever the case, we can’t let this get in the way of finishing the job.” He spoke slowly, tone almost condescending. “If we - if  _ you _ \- take this personally, go looking for revenge, you could blow the entire operation.”

Bucky’s eyes rounded the table, looking at each of his friends in turn. He was outnumbered. Outvoted. 

“Fine,” he shrugged, his scowl settling deeper. “Fine. I guess we do nothing.”

* * *

She grabbed a towel from the counter and wiped fog from the mirror, revealing her smudgy, damp reflection above the sink. Her face was clean now, but traces of mascara blurred around her eyes, making her look ragged and tired. Which was fitting, considering how she felt. Her palms pressed into her cheeks, breathing deep the steam-filled air.

In the sparse bathroom of a man she barely knew, she walked through the steps of her beauty routine, happy for the stability, the familiar tasks. She rubbed in a moisturizer and brushed her teeth, tapped concealer under her eyes. Tiny rituals to put the world back under her feet, instead of Bucky’s cold bathroom tiles. 

Bucky was just about to knock on the door when it swung open, revealing a startled Y/N towel-drying her hair. 

“Oh!” She jumped back half a step. “Sorry, you scared me a little.” 

“I was just going to ask if maybe you were ready for breakfast?” Bucky had the good grace to look sheepish, tucking some of his hair behind his ear. She had changed into a pair of leggings and a college football sweatshirt. Just her, without her lab coat or scrubs or protective professionalism. A soft girl shuffling her feet on his bedroom carpet. A victim of his lies. 

“Breakfast would be nice - what’s cooking?” she sighed, attempted a smile. He nearly fell over himself in relief.

They sat across from each other - his other houseguests showed themselves out - eyes meeting over stacks of pancakes. Bucky had made his specialty, homemade blueberry pancakes, and he even warmed the syrup before setting it on the table. 

“It just doesn’t make sense - why would you put cold syrup on a hot pancake?” he insisted.

“Wow, I had no idea your feelings on pancakes were this strong.” Her sarcasm dripped like the syrup from her fork. 

“Hey. It’s the only way to eat pancakes. I’ll stand by that.”

She just smiled, shaking her head at his intensity. Sitting down at the table with him felt so normal - like it had at the clubhouse last night. His soft smiles and light teasing worked like a charm; in spite of what happened, her home violated and her own life threatened, she was laughing in his kitchen, soaking extra syrup into her pancakes and smiling at him over a fresh cup of coffee. 

“So I was thinking -” he started around a mouthful of pancakes, but was interrupted by her phone vibrating on the table. When she saw the caller ID, she sighed anxiously and grabbed the phone.

“Hi, Mr. Van Horn.”

“Afternoon, ma’am.” He sounded tired, and she couldn’t blame him. “I’ve heard about what happened at the house and I wanted to call and check on you - was anybody hurt? You alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine, they broke in when no one was home.” She fingered the rim of her coffee cup as she spoke. 

“Well...that’s good at least.” 

“Yeah. Listen, Mr. Van Horn, I am so, so sorry about this. Really. I-I know your mother’s house was very important to you and I promised to take care of it, and now this has happened-”

“Now, don’t you worry about that,” he cut her off. “I know it wasn’t your fault. And it’s just a house. But...well, I’ll know more when I get a look at the damages, but I’m afraid you might have to find another place to stay.” 

Her heart dropped out of her chest.

“Oh.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“I’m very sorry,” he hesitated. “It’s just that, with what the police have told me, the house is gonna need some serious work, plus new furniture and dishes and things, before it’s livable again. I don’t mean to leave you stranded out here, but I’ve got no idea how long all of that is gonna take…”

“It’s alright, really. I understand.” 

He apologized profusely, despite her reassurances, and even offered to let her stay with him and his wife, which she also declined. When the old man finally hung up, after refusing to let her pay for the damage, she dropped her head into her hands.

“God, what am I going to do?” she whispered, mostly to herself. She had practically forgotten Bucky was still sitting there, watching her with sad, soft eyes. 

“Don’t worry, it’s going to be fine,” he insisted. He shuffled a little in his chair. “Actually, I already asked Steve this morning if...it would be alright for you to move into the clubhouse.” Her head shot up and he scrambled. “Just temporarily! Until you find another place. There’s a few spare bedrooms we keep made up for anybody who needs a bed, so you could just take some of your things up there. Nobody would mind.”

Y/N blinked at him. 

“You want me to move in...to your clubhouse.” He nodded, and she blew out a harsh breath. “I’m sorry, I don’t know...I don’t think I can do that.”

“Hey. Look at me.” She met his eyes over their now-empty plates. “This is our fault. What happened to you, your home. It’s the least we can do.”

“I-I can’t ask you to-”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering.” Without thinking, he slid one of his hands across the table to cover hers. “I -  _ we _ will take care of you. I promise.” 

His eyes were so sincere, his hand rough but warm on top of her own. She took a deep breath, then two, and swallowed. 

“Okay,” she nodded. “Okay.”

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The slow burn continues. Bad people are up to stuff. Good people are up to stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know what you think!

He leaned on his motorcycle, a butterfly knife twirling between his twitchy fingers. He waited there, watching a few cars pass by on the highway, but there weren’t many at this time of the afternoon. Sweat started to pool in his worn leather boots, but he’d be damned if he complained. He’s seen hotter, been through worse. His other hand dug through the stash in his pocket, and he popped a piece of sugary pink gum into his mouth, crumpling the wrapper and letting it fall to the ground. 

Gravel crunched behind him as his lieutenant approached. Rumlow didn’t turn, merely flicked his wrist over and folded the knife, waiting for the other man to speak. 

“They’ve moved her into the clubhouse,” Ward said, hair greased back and oily in the sunlight. “Guess she didn’t listen.”

“No,” Rumlow shook his head with a smack of his bubblegum. “Guess she didn’t.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, the only sounds between them were his mouth on the gum and the cicadas humming in the late September heat. A couple more cars passed by, but their old gas station hangout was the last thing anyone wants to look at too closely; the road turned away from them and so did everyone's eyes. Grant Ward was sweating now, too, but he didn’t dare interrupt Rumlow while he was thinking. His mother used to say he didn’t have any brains, but he’s got enough to value his own neck and shut the hell up.

“It’s Barnes that wants her,” Rumlow finally spoke up, spitting his gum on the ground and trading it out for a peppermint. That wrapper followed the other, littering the gravel. “Rogers, Wilson - the rest of ‘em would’ve left her alone. But he wants her. Probably fucks her.”

Ward cracked a little smile at that. He was a red-blooded man, and he’d seen that doctor chick. Couldn’t blame Barnes for taking an opportunity. 

“You think she’s our ticket, boss?”

“I know she is.” The peppermint cracked between Rumlow’s molars. “They just added a weak link to their chain. We tug on it and Barnes’ll come running.” He stood up from his perch against the seat of his bike, tilting his head to one side until his neck cracked. Ward shifted his feet on the gravel to put an extra few inches of space between them. He glanced at their bikes. 

“We movin’ now?”

“Not yet.” Rumlow straddled his bike and spared Ward one last look. “Call the boys. We’re havin’ church.”

* * *

“This’ll be your room,” Natasha leaned a hip against the door, allowing Y/N to walk in first. “Not exactly 5 star, but it’s better than being homeless.”

“Hey, beggars can’t be choosers.” Y/N dropped her duffel bag on the bed and sighed, tilting her head back to look at Nat. “Seriously. Thank you for doing this.”

“You don’t need to thank us.” Nat was shaking her head already. “We put you in this mess. It’s the least we could do.”

“Still. It means a lot.”

After spending one more night at Bucky’s place, Y/N had gathered what was left of her (undamaged) belongings and thrown it all in the back seat of her car once more, following Bucky and Nat on their bikes as they lead her out of town towards the clubhouse. The radio faintly picked up a gospel station but she shut it off. Too much on her mind. 

She couldn’t stop thinking about the warning, literal writing on the wall. “Leave while you can.” The threat was clear - at some point, they wouldn’t let her go, whoever “they” were. She’d be dead. The implication chilled her more than the break-in itself; this wasn’t a random, opportunistic home robbery. Someone followed her, found her, targeted her. And while the Avengers were doing their best to help her out, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it truly was their fault. 

_ But you signed up for this _ , she told herself.  _ Didn’t you ask for it? _

A knock on the door frame, and Steve Rogers poked his head around the corner, his soft blond hair sticking out at odd angles from his helmet. He met her eyes with a small smile.

“Hey. You getting settled?” he asked, shuffling his very large body to fit in the doorway next to Natasha. 

“Mhm. Nat is helping.”

“Good - that’s good,” Steve nodded, hooking his thumbs in his pockets, a little awkward. He had the telltale posture of a person who has something to say, but doesn’t know how to say it. Natasha noticed this, too, turning herself to face him fully.

“Spit it out, Rogers, I know that look.” She crossed her arms. He blew a defeated breath past his lips.

“Listen, I wanna start by saying that I don’t like this anymore than you do, okay?” he held up his hands, looking between the two of them. “But...I’ve been talking with Bucky, and we both feel that it would be good if - if you didn’t really go out alone for a while.”

A beat. 

“Excuse me?”

“Clearly you’re in danger, we all saw the damage at your house. The person -  _ people _ \- who did this are not going to just leave you alone. So...we were thinking that you should have someone, one of us, taking you to work or to the store or wherever you need to go.”

He finished his little speech with an apologetic lift of his eyebrows, knowing that it would not be received the way it was intended. At the look on Y/N’s face, he tensed his shoulders, bracing himself for the blow.

“Are you out of your  _ mind _ ?” She was looking at him like he had just sprouted a second head. “It’s one thing to suggest moving in here, but a bodyguard? A literal bodyguard? No way. Not happening.”

Scared as she was, alone as she felt, her independence bristled at the thought of having her privacy invaded, her competence questioned. Did they really think she couldn’t take care of herself? She lived on a college campus, and then in the city for med school - she’d fended off her fair share of creeps, and all by herself. 

“I knew you wouldn’t go for it…” Steve sighed, but set his jaw, not backing down. “But this isn’t really a request.”

“Are you - are you fucking  _ joking _ right now?” Oh she was really gonna lose it. “Look, you may be the president or captain or whatever around here, but I’m not a part of your stupid gang. You don’t get to give me orders.”

He blinked, a stunned look on his face as if he were seeing her for the first time. Natasha was smirking, giving him that knowing look that he honestly hated - she remembered, just like Steve did, the first time he heard those words. The woman who said them. The tension in his shoulders relaxed just a little.

“I’m not trying to. I swear,” he placated. Drawing in a deep breath, he glanced at Natasha, who was no help  _ at all _ today, then settled his gaze back on their guest. “Look. How about a compromise. Give it two weeks, two weeks of being escorted by someone from the Avengers, just until we get these people or things calm down. Sound reasonable?”

She hesitated. Honestly? No, not reasonable. But in the name of safety...and she did wonder, her mind turning back to the train of thought she had followed in the car. Whoever it was, they might not be fooled by her moving across town. They might even still be following her, know that she was here…

“Fine,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “Two weeks. But I still don’t like it.”

* * *

“I’m sorry, remind me why we’re doing this?”

“You agreed to let one of us take you to and from work. This is the easiest way.”

“...you could just follow me on the bike. Or ride in my car.”

Bucky sighed heavily, slumping against the handlebars of his motorcycle. 

“What’s the big deal? I thought you liked riding?” he shrugged. “Besides, riding together saves gas, and it’s better for the planet.”

She lowered her brows at him, clearly not impressed with his argument. 

“Look. It’s not the bike I have a problem with, okay?” She rubbed her temples. “If I show up to work on the back of your bike, people might - they’ll think…”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “People are gonna think what they wanna think, doll,” he shook his head. “But not a damn bit of that matters unless  _ you _ think it does.”

She pursed her lips, fingers fiddling with the zipper on her jacket. Enough people associated her with the gang already that her home had been invaded and vandalized. And the rest had their whispered suspicions, shared at church ice cream socials and book clubs. 

Without a word, she took the helmet he offered and swung her leg around to sit behind him. At least this commute would be more fun.

* * *

“So...Bucky Barnes, huh?” 

“Yeah - what’s he like? He as mean as he looks?”

“Well, he’s gotta be  _ something _ other than mean for her to want to date him-”

“Woah, woah slow down,” Y/N put her hand up, interrupting the flow of the nurses’ conversation. “I am  _ not _ dating him. We’re not dating.”

“Uh huh, sure.” Charlotte raised her eyebrows. “And that’s why he’s following you around like a guard dog, driving you places, holding open doors…”

“Never leaving your side.” Stacey added. 

“Waiting for you after work.” KC, the newest nurse, nodded towards the front door of the clinic, where the man in question could be seen leaning against his bike, a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. 

Y/N sighed. After a week of Bucky’s protective detail, the whole town had their eyes on her. Whispers between grocery aisles and PTA meetings and over coffee at Mel’s Diner - everyone had seen her with him, on that motorcycle of his all the time, and hadn’t she seemed too smart to fall in with a guy like that? Of course, it all made sense now, what had happened over there at the Van Horn house - somebody in that gang wanted her gone, but she was too in love with Barnes to listen to her good sense and skip town. She’d heard it all; complete strangers took it upon themselves to warn her, to scold her even, for hopping into bed with a dangerous man. All of it regardless of the truth, which was that he was more of a bodyguard than anything else. 

“I know you all  _ think _ that there’s something going on between us,” she said slowly. “But Bucky and I are just friends. That’s all.”

The nurses had finally cornered her after several days of watching Bucky peel into the parking lot and produce their wind-swept doctor, and then seeing him reappear at lunch and in the evenings to steal her away on the back of his bike. She knew they made quite the picture, and she sure as hell knew about his reputation - she had just hoped that no one would actually say anything to her face. It was too hard to explain, even without her hesitation to reveal Avengers business. 

Her words did little, if anything, to satisfy them. On the face of it, they were worried for her. The town knew nothing about Barnes other than his reputation, which was more leather than golden. When Y/N started making appearances with him, her own character came into question, with everyone but her friends at the clinic. She protested again and again that he wasn’t what the town said, that he was a good, kind person, and over time she wore them down a little - but after that it was worse. Satisfied that she wasn’t in mortal danger, the girls revealed their deep curiosity about the mysterious “bad boy” that had become her personal driver. They giggled and whispered as though they were at a sixth grade slumber party, not a medical clinic. 

Charlotte crossed her arms with a smug smile, watching Y/N squirm under their questions. Maybe she just wasn’t ready to admit it to herself.

“Well, I think your  _ friend- _ ,” she put air quotes around the word. “- is ready to go.”

Y/N looked out the door again to see Bucky straddling his bike now, his face turned towards the door as if he could actually see her through it. The sunglasses on his face were bright and reflective in the golden hour sun. 

“Alright then. Have a good night ladies.”

“Oh I’m sure  _ yours _ will be better.” KC wiggled her eyebrows. 

Bucky watched her approach him with a smile around his cigarette - a smile that dropped in surprise when she snatched the thing from his mouth and threw it to the ground. 

“What have I told you about smoking here?”

“I’m still outside, you know.”

“Yes, but plenty of patients have trouble breathing - you could manage to  _ not _ have a cigarette while you’re waiting for me to get off work.”

His grin was playful, sweet. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

15 minutes later, on their drive home, he shot straight past the clubhouse without even slowing down. Lulled into the familiar trance of holding him on the back of his bike, she almost didn’t notice - when she realized what he’d done, she squeezed his waist and leaned up to yell in his ear.

“Where are you going? The clubhouse is back there!”

“You’ll see, doll!”

He stuck to the highway for a few more miles, before branching off on a smaller road through the hills. They sped past pastures and creeks and herds of cows lazing under trees, all of it still green and soft though October had managed to sneak up on them somehow. A few houses dotted the hillside here and there, with large barns to hold their animals, but other than that they saw no sign of civilization, or of people who would stare.

He turned off again onto a small country lane, following old signs that read “Old Man’s Lake Park” until they reached a gravel lot that served for parking. With a sly grin, he watched her pull off her helmet and tugged her along a worn footpath through the park, never letting go of her hand. 

“I thought you might like it out here - a change of pace from going back and forth to the clubhouse and work and the grocery store.” He looked over his shoulder, and she could see his confidence fade a little, a hopeful look in his eyes tempered with an ounce of doubt. 

The lake sprawled out over a hundred yards, its surface calm and glassy, cut only by a family of ducks near the shoreline. Trees dug their roots in along the bank, their branches curving down to brush the top of the water, with a couple of ropes tied to the stronger ones so that people could jump in. As the sun fell closer to the horizon, the whole scene was lit in amber and gold, the soft hum of cicadas filling the air around them. 

“This...Bucky-” She looked up to find him already looking at her. “This place is beautiful.”

He smiled, a little bashful as he glanced down at his boots. 

“I know people have been givin’ you a hard time...and I know it’s mostly my fault,” He sighed. “But all the way out here, there’s nobody watching. You can just...be yourself, you know?”

He was staring across the lake, the light from the water reflecting in his crystal blue eyes. She took a deep breath, shoulders relaxing.

“Yeah, I know.”

* * *

“You  _ seriously _ did that on a dare? I can’t believe you.”

“Well I had to otherwise Steve was gonna do it! You didn’t know him back then, he would’ve caught pneumonia and died!”

“Oh, so you went skinny dipping in a  _ frozen lake _ for selfless reasons, that makes it completely different.” She rolled her eyes, unable to hold down her smile. “I’m sure your mother was very proud.” 

“She was, when she figured out I was saving a life,” Bucky quipped back, eyebrows raised. 

“Saving a life by almost dying - you pretty much broke even on that one.”

“Yeah, well. I was 15, I had more muscles than brains back then.” 

She just scoffs, rolling her eyes again. 

* * *

“You know, I never really saw a lot of stars until I was deployed.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Grew up in the city - too much light pollution.” 

“Me too, actually.” She laid back on her elbows. “I barely know any of the constellations, except for the Big Dipper.”

“Seriously?” When she nodded, he laid down on his back, gesturing with his hand for her to do the same. “Okay, class is in session.” He pointed towards the sky above, a little to her right. “You see that group right there, with the three stars right in a row?”

Tracing her eyes along the tattoos on his forearm, she turned her gaze upwards to where he was pointing. 

“Yeah, I see it.”

“That’s Orion’s belt.” He leaned a little closer, letting her eyes follow the shape that his finger was making. “Then you can follow it up here and here...and that’s the whole constellation of Orion - he’s called the Hunter, and you can kinda see there how he’s supposed to be holding a bow.”

“Oh, wait I do see it!” She turned to him, beaming. “That’s so cool!”

He was already smiling at her, his eyes flitting over her face. 

“Alright - next up, Pegasus.”

* * *

“Why did you really come out here?” 

They had scooted closer to each other as night fell and the temperature with it. Y/N was sitting with her knees drawn up, Bucky’s jacket around her shoulders.

“I mean, I know you went with the rural practice program,” he went on. “But...I just can’t believe you didn’t have another option to pay for med school.”

She shrugged. 

“Well, I could’ve gone into the military, but I’m not exactly thrilled with our current commander-in-chief,” she sighed. “And then...I don’t know, I guess. I didn’t want the stress of having to pay off my tuition by myself. So I took this.”

He nodded, silent for a few moments. 

“Do you regret it?”

She didn’t answer, not for a long time - she just stared at the toes of her sneakers and pulled at the grass. When she did speak, her voice was small, barely above a whisper.

“Do you ever feel alone, Bucky?”

She could feel him looking at her, but didn’t turn.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do sometimes.”

“I’ve...I’ve never been this alone in my life.” She shook her head and took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I regret this, but I feel-I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing. Like I’m lost. And no one can tell me if I’m going the right way or not.”

He didn’t say anything to that, but covered her hand with his. The sky had been dark for a long time, the stars glittering overhead and echoing back on the surface of the lake. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but neither of them had made a move to leave. 

“I...know a little of how you feel,” he said, his voice low. “And I don’t think anyone can really tell you which way to go.” He squeezed her fingers, his palm covering hers. “But you’re strong, and crazy smart, and you can figure this out. And…” he sighed heavily. “You don’t have to be...alone.” 

She stared at him, just able to make out the soft blue of his eyes in the dark. Something stretched between them, unbreakable in the moonlight. She couldn’t look away. On the grass between them, he threaded his fingers with hers and whispered. 

“You’re not alone.”

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter! Let me know what you think!

She chewed on the cap of her pen, staring at the purchase orders in front of her. Her eyes slid over the same lines again and again, not reading a single word. Numbers and letters blurred together across the page. She didn’t even realize she wasn’t reading them.

It had been like this all morning - her brain couldn’t stay here, in the fluorescent sterility of her clinic, behind a desk, in an exam room. Her patients’ voices floated through her ears, just white noise humming in the back of her mind. She kept pinching her leg, trying to bring herself to the present, but nothing she did worked. She couldn’t focus on anything, anything that wasn’t-

- _ Bucky’s waist between her arms, squeezing him tight as she saw the goosebumps raise on his arms in the night air. His jacket still sat on her shoulders, keeping her warm on the back of the bike as they sped home, only two of them, painting country roads in light and sound- _

The pen dropped to the desk, startling her. Her cheeks heated with embarrassment, though thankfully no one was around to see her driven to distraction at the mere thought of- 

No. Nope. Not right now.

_ This is so unprofessional,  _ she scolded herself. 

Charlotte poked her head into the office with a knock, announcing another patient this afternoon, and Y/N sighed and pushed back from her desk. Tried to get her head in the game. In the exam room, her patient (a routine checkup) babbled about the corn harvest and the price of tractor tires and something else she’s not listening to - snapping her gloves into the trashcan and-

_ -the door opened softly, him tugging her along with their hands still laced together, the clubhouse dark and quiet, and they’re hushing their giggles like teenagers who have things like curfews and bedtimes. She feels a little dizzy watching him smile over his shoulder at her, and there is something in it, in the way his eyes are so wide and bright in the dark, and when she bumps into him by accident - motorcycle legs unsteady - he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her through the halls- _

“- a whole month?” 

The patient has her eyebrows lifted, expectant.

“...I’m so sorry, what did you just say?”

“I was just saying that it was hard to believe we’ve gone nearly a month without rain,” the woman said, mouth curling into a sly smile. 

“Oh. Oh, yes you’re right.” Y/N shook her head. “At least the harvest is nearly done anyway.”

“Mm. So what’s his name?” 

“Who?”

“You know  _ who _ \- the man you’ve been thinking about this entire appointment instead of listening to me talk about corn.”

Y/N floundered, tripping over herself in an attempt to deflect the question.    
  


“No one, it’s nobody,” she shook her head vehemently. “I’m just a little tired today, so I’m spacing out a little. I’m very sorry about that, so unprofessional of me.”

“Mhm.”

* * *

“Hey! Earth to Barnes!”   
  


“Huh?” 

“I’ve asked you  _ three times _ where you put the toolbox.” Sam had his arms crossed, smirking. “Too busy thinking ‘bout your girl?”

“She is  _ not _ my girl, Wilson.”

“You sure about that?”

_ -she shushed him for laughing out loud when she tripped over the common room couch, but she couldn’t stop smiling either, and he couldn’t believe how much she glowed even in the dark. Couldn’t pull his hand away from where their fingers had been laced tightly since they were sitting together on the grass- _

“Yeah, I’m pretty damn sure.”

“Whatever you say man, I’m just looking for a toolbox.”

Bucky pointed behind the bar, where he knew that Clint would have left the tools after working on a leaky sink. 

“Probably back there. Barton was using them.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Bucky didn’t reply, just rolled his eyes and went back to cleaning his gun. He always carried, part of the job, but now that he was practically serving as Y/N’s bodyguard, he checked and re-checked his weapons on a daily basis. He was carrying 2 extra knives in his boots now, besides the one in his belt, and he sharpened them every other day. It soothed him a little, the routine preparation, knowing he was in control. That would keep her safe. 

And then, afterwards, he could tell her everything. Get it all off his chest. If she was still listening after  _ that _ , then maybe they could start with dinner. Or a movie. Something normal, low pressure - he was terrified of scaring her away.

Staring at the can of grease on the coffee table in front of him, his mind couldn’t help slipping back to-

_ -standing in the hallway outside her door, him leaning against the wall and smiling at her, still holding her hand. Her eyes were bright as she smiled back at him, their faces only inches apart, noses almost touching. He wanted to kiss that smile, and he thought, with that look in her eyes, that she might let him- _

The grease can clatters off the coffee table, knocked over by a twitch in his hand. He cursed and tried to snatch it up before too much of the oily stuff leaks out onto the rug underneath the coffee table, but he could already see the inky stain soaking into the fibers. Nat was going to have his head.    
  


* * *

There were stacks of files on her desk to go through, all of them old patients; she volunteered to help out with the clerical side of it all, sorting out the patient files, transferring or shredding whatever was no longer needed. It was tedious, but so was sitting alone and refreshing her inbox. 

Y/N shuffled another file over to the ‘Keep’ stack, having made her own notes on the patient’s chart just this morning. She glanced at the pile that hadn’t been done yet - it mounded on her desk, threatening to spill over into chaos on the floor. She should have been grateful for the distraction - for anything that would keep her from thinking about Bucky as she had done all morning. But as the afternoon wore on so did her boredom, tugging at the fuzzy edges of her mind and making her stare at the clock as the minutes ticked on, slowly bringing the end of her day. 

She was rescued by a knock on her office door, Stacey poking her head in. 

“You’ve got a walk-in. I think he’s been here before.”

“Alright, thanks.”

Y/N tugged on her lab coat and hung her stethoscope around her neck as she stood from her desk. The digital clock in the corner of her computer screen blinked 3:58 p.m. Only another hour or so until Bucky would pick her up…

She snapped her fingers and wrenched herself back to the present, however unwillingly. There was a patient waiting. A little flag outside the door told her he was in exam room 2. She took the little chart from its place by the door, flipping it back to take a quick look before she went in.

He looked up at her when the door opened, giving her that same sleazy smile she remembered.

“Hey, doc,” Rumlow waved with his fingers. “Long time, no see, huh?”

* * *

They were  _ supposed _ to be working on Steve’s bike, getting some overdue maintenance done on her before their big meeting this week. Stark and a couple of his guys were coming down, starting the prep for their final move on this mission. 

As if reading his mind, Sam spoke up. 

“You ever think about what you’re gonna do when this is over?”

“I think you asked me that the first time we met,” Bucky grunts, hefting the toolbox from its place in the garage. “Back in the Army.”

“Yeah, I remember.”   
  


“Got me in a lot of shit since then.”

“Didn’t answer the question.”

Steve’s bike sat propped up in the middle of the garage, and Bucky dropped the toolbox next to it, grabbing the oilcloth slung over the seat. He didn’t look back at Sam.

“Course I think about it,” he shrugged. “But I still don’t know.”

“Hm. I figured you would need to go see about a girl.”

Bucky rolled his eyes but dropped to his knees, flipping the box open. His voice was softer when he spoke. 

“She’s not really looking to build a life here, you know.”

“So? Neither are you. Just part of the job.” Sam shook his head. “I swear you are the biggest fucking idiot if you-”

Bucky threw the dirty oil rag at him over his shoulder. Sam squawked as the rag hit him in the face, and dove for Bucky, the two of them grappling on the drop cloth spread over the garage floor. Though both men were strong and fit, Bucky had the advantage of sheer muscle mass, and managed to pin Sam on his stomach with a hand twisted behind him.

“Say ‘uncle’.”

“Alright, alright asshole - uncle, okay? Uncle!”

Bucky shifted his weight and eased up onto his knees, letting Sam roll over. He laid there, flat on his back, for a moment and gave Bucky the finger. 

“You started it.”

“Hey idiots!” It was Natasha, standing in the doorway, rolling her eyes. “Get in here. You’ve gotta see this.”

Sharing a look, they scrambled to their feet and followed her out of the garage, down the hall to the common area. Most of their fellow Avengers were already there; Steve, Clint, and Wanda were clustered together on the couch, with Nat behind them, leaning over the back. Thor, recently returned from a cross-country ride with his brother, sat in the armchair, rubbing his chin. 

“What is it?” Sam asked, making his way around the couch. “What’s going on?”

Steve looked up, his brows dark and drawn together. His eyes slid past Sam and straight to Bucky, and the look softened a little with...was that pity? Bucky’s stomach dropped. 

“What is it, Steve?”

Steve swallowed harshly, licking his lips. Glancing down, Bucky noticed he was holding a piece of paper in his hands, small and square like a notepad. 

“Buck…”

“Fuck, Steve,  _ what? _ ”

Blowing a breath out his lips, Steve held out the note to him. 

“This was left on the front door - not sure when, we just found it 10 minutes ago.”

The paper  _ was  _ from a notepad - a prescription pad, one from the clinic, with Y/N’s name printed across the top in a small, neat font. No prescription was written on it, though. A skull and crossbones was drawn in crisp, black marker, bleeding through the thin sheet. At the bottom, a short note: 

_ SEE YOU SOON, DOC.  _

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. Here we go.

He couldn’t remember the last time his heart raced so fast. His pulse raced, heart stuck in his throat, as Bucky sped down the highway towards the clinic. The engine of his bike roared, but he barely heard it over his own thoughts. His mind was caught on the words scrawled on thin stationary.

_ SEE YOU SOON, DOC.  _

Why did he leave her alone at the clinic?  _ So fucking stupid, Barnes.  _ Rumlow knew where she worked, the whole town did. Driving her to work didn’t mean they couldn’t get to her, because was fucking off like an  _ idiot _ and going back to the clubhouse.  _ Fucking amateur. _ If she was hurt, if anything had happened, if a single hair on her head was out of place...

His phone was buzzing in his pocket - Steve, probably, who had tried to warn him before he ran out of the clubhouse.

“Wait, Buck, we don’t even know what this is yet-”

“You know exactly what the fuck it is, Steve!”

“Barnes, wait up, we’ll go with you!”

He ignored them all, his own bike closest and his helmet hanging on one of the handlebars. He had revved the engine and peeled away from the clubhouse before the rest of them could get their keys. He didn’t have time to wait. Behind his eyes, images flashed one after another - the two of them watching the stars and holding hands by the lake, stumbling in the dark through the clubhouse, her eyes wide in the dark…

He was going to kill Brock Rumlow.

When he came around the curve in the highway and saw the clinic, the parking lot was mostly empty. But he could see it; gleaming in its spot near the front door was a dark black motorcycle. A stark white skull stood out against the leather on the seat. His stomach dropped even further, but his anger was sharp and white, bubbling under the surface of his skin.  _ Good. He’s still here.  _

The bike cut into the lot sharply, his tires leaving black streaks across the asphalt. He looked towards the clinic and his breath caught in his throat - there she was, coming out of the building,  _ his _ hand gripping her elbow tightly. Rumlow was wearing his sunglasses already, grinning his asshole smile. Even behind the dark tint of his shades, Bucky knew that slimy sonofabitch was looking right at him. She was just looking up, noticing that he was pulling into the parking lot, and tripped over her own feet as Rumlow dragged her along, not letting go of her arm. 

Bucky swerved and pulled the bike to a stop, not bothering to check if he was in a real parking space or not, and lept up, marching across the pavement towards them. 

“Hey! Let her go, you fucking asshole!” Y/N had never seen his face look like that - the murderous steel in his eyes. “Let her go right now, or I swear to God I’ll kill you right here.”

“Let her go?” Rumlow chuckled, a fake confused frown pulling at his lips. “I’m not taking her anywhere. Just walking a nice lady out of the building.”

“I’m not in the mood, Rumlow, you better fucking  _ fuck off _ right now or-”

“Bucky, what are you talking about?” Y/N interrupted his tirade. He blinked at her. 

“Yeah, Barnes what  _ are _ you talking about?” Rumlow grinned.

“He...he really was just walking me out of the building, Buck.” Y/N licked her lips. The manic look in Bucky’s eyes scared her more than she liked. She wiggled her elbow, loosening Rumlow’s hold until she could take a step away from him. “I mean, I didn’t ask him to, but he sort of insisted.”

“Since when is it a crime to be a gentleman?” Brock threw up his hands in a gesture of innocence. It got Bucky’s hackles raised all over again.

“Get away from her. Right now.” His voice dropped lower, threat clear in every grating syllable. “I don’t give a fuck what you  _ were _ doing, but you put another hand on her and I’ll make you swallow your teeth.” 

“Bucky…” Y/N’s voice was soft, placating. She didn’t know what exactly was happening, and she certainly didn’t like Brock Rumlow, but whatever she could feel the static in the air, like before a thunderstorm. If she couldn’t stop them, this was about to get bloody. 

“Stay back,” Bucky ordered. He barely even glanced at her. “You don’t know who he is.”

“Of course she does! I’m her patient!” Rumlow laughed, mocking and smug. “Even got insurance.”

“Shut up.” Bucky’s patience was a frayed thread - he felt that he might snap at any moment. He wasn’t sure what kind of game Rumlow was playing, but he had no interest in it. Turning to Y/N, he held out a hand to her. “Come on, we’re leaving.”

“Aw, but you just got here!” Brock jeered, crossing his arms. He was waiting for something, and Bucky didn’t want to find out what it was. 

“Bucky, what’s going on?” 

He kept his gaze on her, pleading. “Please. Get on the bike. We’ve gotta go.”

Just then, the roar of motorcycle engines reached their ears. They turned to the road, Bucky’s heart easing for a moment before a vice closed around it again. He could see just far enough around the bend in the road to know they were coming from the wrong direction. Not the clubhouse. Y/N, still not knowing, took a step closer to him. 

They came around the curve, a black swarm, taking up both lanes of the highway. Bucky’s hand closed around her wrist, yanking her towards his motorcycle. 

“C’mon, we gotta go-”

Too late. 

One after another they swooped into the parking lot, surrounding them and circling like sharks. Dressed in all black and leather, skulls printed on the backs of their jackets, Y/N knew instantly these weren’t the other Avengers. The bikers whooped and whistled from their bikes, revving their engines and tightening the circle, cutting Bucky and Y/N off from getting to his motorcycle. He tugged her closer and tried to angle his body in front of hers, but with the gang constantly circling them, they were exposed on one side or another. She gripped his arm tight with both hands. 

“Is this - the ones you warned me about, Hydra?” she spoke close to his ear, trying to be heard over the noise. He nodded, not looking at her. 

“It’s them. They’re the ones who went after your house.” 

Rumlow turned to grin at one of his lieutenants, the stark black crossbones tattoo standing out against the skin of his neck.  _ Oh my god.  _ She should have known, should’ve put this together - how could she be so fucking stupid? He’d be sitting in a jail cell by now if she weren’t so goddamn gullible. 

Bucky wasn’t thinking about that now. He grabbed one of her hands and turned to face her, urgent and sad. “Look, if anything happens to me, I want you to run. Don’t look back.”

“Bucky, no, I’m not going anywhere -”

“Yes, you are. I don’t want to - if they get you -” he cuts himself off, rushing to express himself as the gang starts to dismount their bikes. “I can’t let you get hurt. Okay? I want you to be safe. So, first opportunity, you make a break for it and call Steve. Promise?”

She pursed her lips. She didn’t like it, didn’t want to, her mind scrambling for a reason to protest, but she couldn’t think of one. Self-defense was one thing, but to hold her own in a parking lot fight with a biker gang? Her odds -  _ their _ odds - were better if she could manage to slip free long enough to get help. 

“Okay,” she nodded. “Okay, Bucky.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.” 

He nodded, eyes never leaving hers. Her heart beat against the bars of her ribcage, and she opened her mouth to speak, to say exactly what she wanted to tell him, just in case-

Bucky stopped her by pressing his lips to hers, firm and warm, his other hand cupping the side of her face. She returned the kiss eagerly, a whimper rising up in her throat as she gripped his shirt in her fist. It couldn’t have lasted for more than a few seconds, but they stretched those seconds as long as they could, a first taste of each other, over too soon. Bucky laid quick kisses to her bottom lip and then her upper, and rested his forehead against hers, breathing heavily.

“I just wanted to do that, just once,” he whispered, a sad smile tilting his mouth. She tried to answer him-

A loud wolf whistle interrupted her, and she looked up to see Brock Rumlow swaggering towards them, chin tilted up as he considered the two of them. 

“Pretty hot stuff, lovebirds.” He wiggled his eyebrows, looking around at his men. “Can’t wait till it’s my turn!”

Bucky shoved her behind him again, his eyes turned hard and icy. 

“Not a fucking chance, Rumlow,” he growled. 

“Ooh come on. Clearly she’s got a thing for leather and bikes.” 

His men - Hydra - laughed and jeered like he was a professional comedian. With his gang behind him, Brock seemed relaxed, confident. No doubt that this was going to go exactly the way he wanted it to. He blew a small bubble with the gum in his mouth, then wrapped his lips around it and popped it with his teeth. 

“You know, I really thought you were smarter, Doc.” His eyes were fixed on Y/N. “I mean, why’d you take up with a guy like him? Plenty of other bachelors in this town.”   
  


She glared at him but didn’t say anything, weighing the risk of angering him and his cronies while they were surrounded. The odds weren’t greatly in their favor. The sun was waning overhead into an autumn sunset, and she squeezed Bucky’s hand. He didn’t turn but squeezed back.

“I’ll cut you a deal, Brock.” Bucky’s voice was steady, even. No begging. “You let her walk away, and I won’t kill you.” 

Rumlow looked at him for a long moment, his lip twitching, and then doubled over, sputtering with laughter. The rest of Hydra joined in, howling and slapping each other on the shoulder. Brock stumbled a few steps closer, pretending to wipe tears from his eyes. 

“That’s damn funny, Barnes,” he snickered. “Real fuckin’ funny. Maybe that’s how you’re getting the girls these days.” 

“I mean it. Last chance.”

“No, actually,” Brock pursed his lips in thought, tapping his chin. “I think it’s your last chance.”

In a blink, he swung his leg and delivered a hard kick to Bucky’s stomach with his steel-toed boots. Bucky shoved Y/N back, keeling over in pain, but managed to stay on his feet. 

“Bucky!” she shrieked, darting for him, but two pairs of hands grabbed her arms and yanked her back. Struggling, she found herself between two of Brock’s gang, their leering smiles driving fury and fear up her spine. Her mouth tasted like copper.

Bucky saw her, saw the gang jerking her around, and he growled, lunging for Rumlow. His attack caught Brock off-guard, and they both went to the ground, grappling with each other. With the Hydra members surrounding her, Y/N could barely see - Bucky landed a punch, then Rumlow; one was on top, and then the other flipped and squirmed out of his grip. She threw her elbows and kicked her legs in vain, trying to wriggle out of the strong hands that held her. 

A break in the crowd. Bucky’s face was covered in blood, Rumlow sporting a black eye. They were circling each other, just out of arm’s length - and in the golden hour sunlight she could see why: a knife glinted in Brock’s hand, its blade already streaked with Bucky’s blood. The gap closed, and she heard them growl, on each other once again, and if she could just get the sleeves of her jacket a little loose then maybe-

A single gunshot rang out.

The crowd flinched back. A breath.

And then a frenzy. They were even rowdier, angrier now, practically foaming at the mouth and rushing forward. Between the men she could see Bucky holding a gun, Rumlow slumped on the ground in front of him. She pushed at the gang, tried to get to him. They’d kill him now she was sure of it. 

Above it all, somehow, she heard a sound in the distance. A sound she knew, yet her brain lagged behind in placing it. What was that? Why was it good? The crowd started to disperse - scrambling and shoving, dropping her to the ground as they ran to their bikes and revved the engines. They were peeling away from the lot, leaving Y/N, Bucky, and Rumlow crumpled on the ground. She could see the flashing lights of the cars before she realized-

_ Oh thank God, the police _

Sirens wailed and motorcycles screamed and she pushed herself up, nearly crying with relief. Her hands and knees were scraped raw from scrabbling at the concrete, her arms bruising from their hands on her. She stumbled up, fell, and got up again; trying to get to Bucky felt like wading through molasses. He was propped up on his knees, panting, blood staining his shirt and smeared across his face. His eyes - unfocused, wild - found hers and widened in relief; his mouth was forming her name but she couldn’t hear it…

Her view was suddenly blocked by a squad car - 2,3 cars, and policemen jumping out of them, their guns trained on Bucky. She pushed herself up on her toes, pushing around the officer who had his arms in front of her.

“Please, just stay back, ma’am.” His tone was frustrated and condescending, struggling to keep pushing her back. 

“No,  _ no _ let me through he could be hurt and-”

“We’ll take care of that, ma’am.”

“I’m a  _ doctor _ let me through, let me see him-”

The officer called a colleague over to help hold her back and for the second time that night she found herself restrained. All she could do was watch as Bucky was wrestled to the ground, a pair of cuffs locked around his wrists. He saw her across the lot, gone limp in the officers’ hold. 

“Bucky!” Her voice had gone hoarse and weak. He called her name back, tripping as he was marched towards one of the cars. 

“It’s gonna be okay!” He shouted. “Everything’s gonna be okay!” 

Then they shoved him into the backseat and slammed the door.

  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sorry it's been so long since I've updated! These chapters have come out over the last couple of months on my tumblr, I just never got around to posting them on AO3. Thanks for reading!

“Ma’am? Excuse me, ma’am?” He waved his hand in front of her face. “I need you to stay with me here, okay?”

Y/N’s eyes drifted back towards the officer. His dark eyebrows were drawn together in concern. Her fingers gripped the edges of the blanket that had been placed around her shoulders, and she gave him a little nod. 

“So, tell me again, what was your connection to this man?”

“He was a patient, I have no connection with him.” 

“No personal affiliation at all?” 

“No. He was just a patient.”

“What about the other man, Barnes?” 

“What about him?” 

“What is the nature of your relationship with him?”

“We’re...friends, I guess.” She thought about his kiss, the intensity of his lips on hers, the tightness of his arms around her. 

“Just friends?” The officer raised a doubtful brow. 

“Yes.”

“You’ve been seen around town with him quite a bit,” he went on, rocking back on his heels as he considered her. “On a daily basis, in fact. Rides to and from work on his motorcycle, driving to the store, to restaurants.”

“So?”

“So, he’s not your personal driver. Or an Uber.” The officer slid his hands into his pockets. “And you own a perfectly drivable car.  _ So _ , there’s no reason for a man who you claim is just a friend to be driving you everywhere, unless the two of you are in some kind of...special relationship.”

Her eyebrows lowered and she pulled a deep breath in through her nose. It had been over an hour of this, sitting in the parking lot of her clinic and watching them drag Bucky away, the sun slipping behind the horizon as they covered Rumlow’s body and peppered her with questions. An EMT had checked her over and confirmed that she had no serious injuries, and then the cops had swooped in. Her mouth went dry as she repeated her story backwards and forwards, rehashing little details and racking her brain for things she might have missed. The back of her throat ached. Her ass had gone numb from leaning against the cold metal of the squad car. She really wanted to lie down. And to see Bucky. If she had to hear one more false accusation against herself or Bucky, her head might explode. 

“Look. I haven’t committed a crime. And as I’ve told you, neither did Mr. Barnes - he acted in self-defense -” The man opened his mouth but she held up a finger to cut him off. “So unless you plan to arrest me as well, I suggest you either take me home or let me speak to a lawyer. I know my rights.”

He rolled his eyes but took a step back, waving over one of his colleagues. The other officer - younger, greener, with dark curls creeping up in his regulation haircut - hustled towards them, licking his lip and cutting his eyes between Y/N and her interviewer. 

“Yeah, Sergeant?” 

“C’mere, Valdez,” the sergeant beckoned with his fingers. His eyes cut sideways at Y/N, gesturing at her with a flick of his head. “The doctor here is done answering questions without an attorney. Please escort her to her residence.” 

Valdez nodded eagerly, taking a step forward. As he turned his face towards her, Y/N noticed the softness of his cheeks, a remnant of baby fat, cut by a small dimple in one cheek as he smiled at her. His Adam’s apple bobbed and he cleared his throat. 

“If you’ll come with me, ma’am?” he gestured towards a different squad car, one sitting a few yards away with an easy route out of the parking lot. Between them and the car, a few more police going back over the scene, taking pictures and marking locations. She saw a dark stain on the ground and realized that Rumlow’s body had finally been moved. 

With a sigh, she stood up, not sparing a glance at the sergeant, who stood by with his arms crossed. Valdez fell in beside her, matching strides as they crossed the lot, kicking rocks in front of their feet as they walked. He was thankfully silent, and kind; he skipped a half-step ahead of her to open the passenger side door, offering a polite smile as she climbed inside. 

“So, where to?” he asked when he shuffled inside, buckling his seatbelt. 

“Hm?” She hadn’t been paying attention.

“Where should I take you?” 

... _ oh. _

Good question. With her own home vandalized, she had more and more thought of the Avengers clubhouse as...well, a kind of home at least. She  _ did _ want to go there, have a coffee or whiskey (or both) with Natasha, and settle down in her guest bed and be left alone. But...could she bring a cop to the clubhouse? Would that be alright? The location wasn’t a secret, but the Avengers had quite the reputation - enough to have Bucky arrested on sight. She bit her lip, curling and uncurling her fists in her lap, her gaze turned out the window. 

“Where did they take Bucky?”

“Mr. Barnes?” She could hear the frown in his voice without looking. “I’m - I don’t think-”

“Listen,” she turned her gaze on him. “I want to see him. I’ll take care of myself from there. Just take me wherever they took him.” 

“Well, I guess…” 

“What’s your name?” 

He cleared his throat again. “Aiden.” 

“Okay. Aiden, he’s...he’s very important to me. He’s…”  _ all I want _ “...the only real friend I have here. So I know it might not be protocol or whatever but, I need you to take me there. Take me to see him.” 

He blew a harsh breath past his lips, shook his head. Put the car in gear. 

“Okay, then. If you’re sure.”

* * *

  
  


It wasn’t Bucky’s first time in cuffs. 

That had been at age 15 - when he was running with a rougher crowd and thought he was hard, tough, a badass. And yeah, it felt real badass, the way his gut swooped with fear and his legs clenched up in the backseat of that cop car, picked up for vandalism or petty theft - couldn’t quite remember. Sure felt like a man when his voice squeaked over the phone to his mother, informing her where he was and why, hearing her heart break over the line. Yes, sir. He was a real hard man. 

Still, the cuffs never got more comfortable. And neither did the questioning rooms; he arched and curled his back alternately, trying to work out the ache from the press of the metal chair against his spine. It didn’t help, but he managed to crack his neck. His eyelids felt heavy, and he slumped back in the chair again. 

The officers had questioned him for quite a while when they got here, though the interview was unproductive on their side. Bucky refused to speak. He gave nothing away, not of himself or the Avengers, gave no comment on the death of Brock Rumlow. No matter the question, his answer was a sullen stare in the cops’ direction. Every so often, he would repeat his only requests: a bathroom, a phone call, and a lawyer. All denied. 

He twisted his wrists again where they were cuffed to the table, red and chafing from the metal. Really could take a piss right about now, but they weren’t gonna let him anytime soon. He thought of Steve, watching him sprint out of the clubhouse and drive away; of Y/N, wild-eyed and screaming, as Rumlow smashed his head against the concrete. Steve would take care of her, he told himself. They all would. 

Two minutes passed while he counted the seconds and tapped his fingers against the metal table. His throat felt dry and he tried to work his tongue and swallow his own saliva, but he was too parched. He leveled a glare at the mirror and the door - no reason for the officers to leave him in here this long. But his reputation had preceded him here. These cops knew him - or  _ thought  _ they knew him. He hadn’t been arrested since moving out to this little town, but apparently that didn’t matter. 

He was just starting to think he’d have to pee his pants out of spite when the door banged open, slamming against the side wall. 

“Well, Barnes you just couldn’t keep it in your pants, could ya?” Tony Stark strolled in, whipping his sunglasses off his face and slipping them into the front of his shirt. 

“Tony,” Bucky sighed, shoulders falling. “Can you tell ‘em to get me out of these things? I’ve really gotta pee-”

“Oh, you need a potty break? That’s great. That’s good!” Stark rolled his eyes. “At least I know those Hydra skulls didn’t castrate you.” 

“Stark, please? Bathroom now, yell later.” 

When he returned and was re-cuffed, Stark slid into the chair across from him with a huff. 

“So. You wanna tell me how this  _ didn’t _ blow your cover and ruin the op?” 

“Sure. I’m sitting in jail aren’t I?”

“We’re getting you released,  _ obviously _ ,” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

“Yeah, well, forgive me for making you sweat for a minute so you can understand that this is  _ serious. _ ” Tony’s jaw clenched under the salt and pepper goatee. “How do we reposition you to finish the job when you  _ killed _ your target, exposed yourself to the police, and you’ve gotten involved in a personal relationship? Please,  _ please, _ enlighten me.” 

Bucky blew a breath past his lips. 

“I know it looks pretty fucked right now, but listen.” He held up a finger. “The skulls just saw me shoot Rumlow and get arrested - and since he attacked first and threatened Y/N, it was in self-defense. Releasing me won’t reveal anything. They still don’t know-”

“That you’re an FBI agent?” Tony’s eyebrows went up, his arms crossed, wrinkling the shoulders of his suit. “Which I will have to explain to your buddies here in lockup, considering they’re convinced you’re a real criminal and they should hold you in despite the circumstances of Rumlow’s death.”

“I guess that’s what they pay you for, huh?” Bucky challenged, tilting his head as he considered the other man. 

Tony’s eyes narrowed. 

“Watch it, Barnes,” he warned. “I was never in favor of bringing you and Rogers into this.” 

“Except you made no progress on your case for years,” Bucky shrugged. 

“Don’t make me call Fury on this,” Tony threatened. A dark vein on his forehead pulsed under the harsh fluorescent lights. “I  _ will _ pull your ass out of here. Tread lightly.”

The two men stared each other down across the two feet of table, daring the other to make the first move. Bucky noted the greying hairs at Tony’s temples, the lines in the skin around his mouth. There were circles under his eyes, but that was nothing new. His jaw moved back and forth as he ground his teeth quietly. Bucky lifted his hands in surrender - as far as the cuffs would allow.

“I’ll keep it under control,” he placated. “I can stay in the field. Finish this.”

“You’d better.” Tony pulled his phone from his pocket, thumb swiping at the notifications on his home screen. “Or it’s your head.”

The room was silent, save for the sound of Tony’s fingers tapping on the keyboard, his email swishing into the internet. Bucky licked his dry lips with an equally dry tongue. 

“Oh, goody!” Tony suddenly popped up from his chair, exasperation in every line of his face. “Your girlfriend is here.” 

Despite his dehydration, Bucky’s palms started to sweat.

* * *

“They’ve really cost me this time. Fucking Avengers.” 

“I know, Boss.” 

“Shut up.” The voice on one side of the phone was gravelly, harsh, like ground glass. “I’ve got to think about this…”

Grant Ward pursed his lips, scratched the stubble on his chin. The voice on the phone sighed. 

“God...I need someone to take over Rumlow’s position as a liaison with our drug contacts.”

“I can do it-”   
  


“Didn’t I just tell you to fucking shut up?” Another harsh sigh. “Jesus - Rumlow had maybe half a brain, you’re working with much less than that.” 

Ward kept his mouth shut that time. The seconds dragged by as he picked at his fingernails. 

“Okay. Listen, Ward,” the voice spoke up again. “And listen good - you’re gonna help me send a message to the Avengers, and their new medic.” 

  
  



	12. Chapter 12

“So, Barnes, you gonna introduce me to your girlfriend?” 

Bucky scowled over his shoulder at Tony, wishing he could clock him one right on his bearded jaw. 

“She’s not my -” His eyes slid sideways to Y/N, shifting on her feet and looking uncomfortable. “Y/N, meet Tony Stark. Stark, Y/N.”

She took a step forward and held out her hand, meeting Tony’s in a firm grip. He nodded. His soft brown eyes gave her a quick once-over behind the tinted frames perched on his nose. 

“Nice to meet you,” Tony sighed. “Hope you’re alright after that little incident?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, shrugging. “A little bruised, maybe - and confused as hell, but fine.” Turning to Bucky, she frowned a little. “You’re okay, Buck? Rumlow, I thought he-”

“It’s fine - I’m alright,” he soothed. He lifted his shirt a little to show her the bandages. “They patched me up pretty quick, just surface wounds. Nothing major.” 

She nodded, staying quiet, her eyes fixed on the bandages, on the scar from his stab wound that she sewed up in her bathroom. Her fingers brushed over it lightly, Bucky’s hand coming up to hold hers. 

“Everything’s okay. We’re okay,” he whispered. 

He tangled his fingers with hers and tried to believe it.

* * *

  
  


Tony’s thumb swiped quickly through his phone and he lifted it up to his ear. He listened it ring twice before the other end picked up.

“Tony?”

“Rogers. Where are you?” 

“I’m outside the precinct. Is Bucky-”

“Barnes is fine. Listen,” Tony pursed his lips. “We’re trying to still maintain a low profile for you guys out here, alright? So don’t come in waving your badge.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good. See you in a few.”

He tapped the ‘End Call’ button and dropped his phone back in his jacket pocket. Across the room, Barnes and his doctor friend were sitting side by side on a bench, talking in hushed tones. Well - Bucky was talking; she seemed to be listening, a small frown drawing down the corners of her lips. For all that he and Barnes didn’t get along, Tony did not envy him this moment. 

He glances down when his phone buzzes again, seeing a text from Rhodey with a single thumbs-up emoji. From the lockscreen, Pepper’s smile beamed up at him - the best picture they’d ever taken together, a selfie in front of last year’s Christmas tree. 

He put the phone back in his pocket as he saw Rogers and Wilson walk in the front door. 

* * *

  
  


It was mid-afternoon before she woke up to the sound of her door creaking open.

With a groan, Y/N rolled over and lifted one eyelid, noting Natasha’s hair poking through the doorway. She closed her eyes again. 

“Whattimeisit” she mumbled, face half-smushed in the pillow. 

“Almost 3.” Nat took the spoken words as an invitation and fully entered the room. She was holding a mug of steaming coffee, and carefully made her way to the side of the bed, placing the mug on the nightstand. 

“Mm.” She tried lifting both eyelids - blinked at the afternoon sunlight and closed them again for the moment. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“No problem,” Nat dropped down in a chair by the bed. “You guys had a long night, I know.” 

Y/N nodded against the pillow but didn’t say anything, successfully managing to open her eyes this time. She saw Nat’s hair was up in a ponytail; she was wearing leggings and a grey hoodie, the sleeves rolled up a little at the wrists. It was the softest Y/N had ever seen her. 

Nat’s eyes traced over her face, cutting and sharp even in the softly lit room. There were little strands coming loose from her ponytail curling around her face. She shifted in her chair, crossed one leg over the other and took a deep breath. 

“How much did they tell you about what went on last night?” Nat finally asked, her mouth pressed in a wary line.

Y/N didn’t answer at first, dragging herself to sit up in bed and reaching for the coffee. Black, just the way she liked it. 

“Not much.” Her voice scratched a little, and she sipped at the coffee. “Hardly anything, actually.” 

“What did Bucky say?” Natasha pressed. Y/N shook her head.

“Just...that Rumlow was the leader of the gang that vandalized my house, Hydra or whatever they’re called.” She frowned. “And that the police weren’t charging him because he shot Rumlow in self-defense.”

“That’s all.”

“Yep.”

Nat made a face, pursing her lips and leaning back in her chair slightly. She turned to look out the window and crossed her arms. 

“Here’s the thing,” she sighed. “I like you. A lot.”

“Um, thanks?” 

“You’re welcome.” Her mouth quirked a little in one corner but then pulled back down. “Which is why I’m telling you...that I think you should leave.” 

Y/N blinked. 

“I’m sorry?”

Nat turned and faced her fully.

“I think you should go. Move back to the city, transfer to another clinic.” Her face was like a statue. “Get back to your real life.”

“What are you talking about?”

“None of this is what it seems. Not even him.” Nat raised a single red eyebrow. “You don’t know him, not really. And by the time it all comes out, it could be too late for you.”

“Natasha...you’re really freaking me out.” 

“Good.” Nat glanced down at the floor, then leaned forward in her chair. Her voice dropped half an octave.

“I can get you the money,” she said, her eyes locked on Y/N. “Within a week.”

Y/N opened her mouth but all that came out was a small croak. Natasha continued.

“And I mean all of it - everything you’d be getting from your clinic or the Avengers for the next couple of years. The money that’s left to pay off your debt. You could take it and go, no strings.”

“Stop.  _ Stop. _ ” Y/N held up a hand. “I’m gonna need you to tell me what the  _ fuck _ you’re talking about. Right now.”

Nat held her gaze for a long moment. Dust motes floated in the sunbeam between them. 

“The offer is on the table,” she said. “Think about it.”

* * *

  
  


“There you are, I’ve been looking for you all over the place.” 

She turned around to find Bucky in the doorway of the clubhouse kitchen. He was smiling, a sleepy grin stretching up the corners of his mouth and wrinkling the corners of his eyes. His hair was adorably messy and he was dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants. 

“I guess you slept the day away, too?” he asked, walking over to lean on the counter next to her. 

“Mhm,” she hummed, noncommittal and quiet. Bucky waited for her to go on. She didn’t. 

“What’re you making?” he tried, clearing his throat. Was she angry after last night? Hurt?

“Just an omelette,” she answered. Her eyes cut to him quickly then back to her pan. “You guys don’t keep a lot of food around here, but at least there’s eggs.”

“Yeah, well, bikers aren’t exactly known for their cooking.” He smiled at his joke, but it quickly faded when there was no reaction. Her mouth stayed in a firm line, eyes focused on her eggs like they were the most interesting thing in the world. 

“Is there...are you upset?” He tried again, searching her face. 

She finally looked up at him. 

“What? No,” she shook her head. “No, Bucky, I’m not upset. Just...tired, that’s all.”

“Okay.”

She nodded, turned back to her omelette. With a spatula, she lifted the edges of the omelette to check if it was done on the bottom. Bucky sighed but backed off, taking a few steps over to the other side of the counter, where the coffee maker thankfully still had a half-full pot. 

“So...I wanted to ask you something,” he began, pouring himself a large mug from the coffee pot. They had their backs turned to each other. 

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to ask...well-” He had turned around now, holding his mug and staring at her back from across the kitchen. Her shoulders were drawn up tight, nearly to her ears. “I wanted to ask about the-the kiss.”

Her spine went straight. Without turning from the stove, her head bobbed in a small nod. 

“What about it?”

He cleared his throat. 

“Well it...it meant something to me, and I - if it meant something to  _ you _ , then-then I wanted to ask if you’d go on a date with me? A real date?” 

She turned around, heart running wild in her chest. The kiss.  _ The kiss. _ How could she not wonder...she could hardly stop herself from thinking about it, the brush of his stubble against her cheeks, his grip on her waist. 

_ Not even him. _

His eyes were on her - open, earnest, a softness only for her. She wanted to cross the kitchen, let him hold her, press her face into his neck-

_ It could be too late for you. _

She gripped the counter behind her. He chewed on his lower lip.

“What did you have in mind?” 

  
  



	13. Chapter 13

This shouldn’t be so difficult. 

She was absolutely overthinking.

She continued to fuss with her blouse, tug at the waistband of her jeans, both of which refused to settle in the effortless way she imagined. Other uncooperative articles of clothing lay on the floor and on the bed, where she’d flung them in punishment for refusing to go along with her fashion concepts. She didn’t even  _ have _ that many clothes here at the clubhouse anyway, so her options were extremely limited. But so far, nothing was right.

_ It’s just a date _ , she told herself.  _ You’ve been on a million of them. It’s not worth this much stress. _

And yet. 

It had only been a couple of days since Bucky finally - officially - asked her out. Point blank. Face to face. They had already  _ kissed _ for Christ’s sake, why the hell was she so nervous about a date? 

She peeled off the blouse and tossed it on the floor with the rest. Next option. 

* * *

  
  


Across the clubhouse, Bucky tugged his leather jacket over his shoulders, looking at his reflection in the long bathroom mirror. He frowned, adjusting the collar a bit, before taking the jacket off. Nervous fingers re-tucked his button-down shirt and picked at the cuffs, pondering a wardrobe change. It’s not like he had much that was nicer, but...well, he wanted to look like he  _ tried. _

His hair was slicked back into a neat bun, and he turned his head in profile, making sure the stray hairs were tucked in. Maybe he should have shaved…

A glance at his watch, and he huffed, hands on his hips. Time to stop preening. 

He shuffled the jacket on again, patted down his pockets - phone, wallet, keys. Glanced at the mirror one more time. Took a deep breath. 

_ Gotta go see about a girl. _

* * *

  
  


“So...are you gonna tell me where we’re going?” Y/N wondered aloud. They’ve been on the road for several minutes, in a truck - borrowed from Clint - and driving away from town.

“Don’t you like surprises?” he teased - one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the console. An offer, but she hadn’t taken it. 

“Honestly? Not so much,” she smiled. “At least, not  _ lately _ .”

“Well this is a good surprise,” he looked over at her for a moment, his smile sweet and soft. “Trust me.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him playfully but sat back in her seat, watching the headlights cut through the dark over the road. 

_ Trust me. _

Barely realizing it, her hand lifted up and rested on top of his. 

_ Too late. _

* * *

  
  


The cars along the interstate speed past, the headlights and taillights forming a blinking red and white trail in the distance. Ward watches them on the bridge, cigarette sticking out of the corner of his mouth. The cherry burns bright red as he puffs, sitting by himself this time. He readjusts his position on his bike, and glances at the time on his watch. Should be any minute now. 

He wasn’t too attached to Brock Rumlow - can’t ever be too friendly with a sonuvabitch like that - but dammit if he didn’t miss the man a bit now. There were some things Ward preferred not to know about the business, things he was happy to be ignorant of, things that went blissfully over his head. He was never an ambitious man - perfectly content to play the muscle, the henchman. Now, with Rumlow gone, he’d gotten a promotion, of sorts. 

If it was all the same, he’d just as soon go back to running errands for the bosses. 

He checked his watch again - on cue, his phone buzzed in his pocket. 

“Hello?” 

The voice on the phone barely waited for him to speak.

“Ward - you got what I asked for?” 

“Yeah. Just waiting on the money to come through.” 

“You’ll get the fuckin’ money,  _ Jesus _ \- okay, now listen up - here’s what I need you to do next…”

* * *

  
  


“Wow...I didn’t know they even made these anymore,” she stared at the sign as the car pulled into the lot. 

“Yeah, this one’s been around since the 70’s I think - and it got refurbished last year,” Bucky offered eagerly. “Retro is in, ya know?” 

They pulled up to the box and he paid for their tickets to the drive-in, taking the little card of instructions from the kid in the booth. He pulled the car around the rows of other viewers, looking for a good spot. On the screen above them, the projector was already playing vintage movie cartoons - little animated popcorns and sodas and candies singing about buying snacks. 

Bucky parked the car in the third row, where their view was unobstructed by larger trucks or SUVs; backing into the space, he made sure the bed of the truck was in view of the movie screen. 

In the passenger seat, Y/N tried to hide her smile; this was...completely unexpected, and surprisingly sweet. She’d never been to a drive-in before, but they always seemed like a fun idea. Looking over her shoulder, she now noticed there was a pile of blankets and pillows stuffed into the truck bed, as well as a cooler. 

Bucky turned off the ignition but left the key in, tuning the radio dial to the correct station on the instruction card. Both of them were quiet, her watching his hands on the dial, listening to the faint jingle of the concessions ad over the speakers. 

His smile was nervous when he looked up at her. 

“C’mon, doll - let’s get this show on the road.” 

He hopped out of the cab and made his way around behind the truck, lowering the tailgate and jumping up. Y/N swung her own door open and jumped down from her seat, walking around the other side. With a look of determination on his face, Bucky unfolded layers and layers of blankets, an egg crate mattress topper underneath them all, fluffing up the comforters and pillows and then topping it off with a few throw blankets to cover up. He put his hands on his hips, lower lip caught between his teeth, and turned to face her. 

He cleared his throat. 

“So...what do you think?” he asked, a hint of nerves creeping through. Her heart swelled, pressing up tight against her ribs. 

“It’s perfect, Buck.” 

His smile lit up the lot. 

* * *

  
  


The drive-in was playing a double feature that night - two new films, a romantic comedy and a superhero movie. Bucky’s cooler was pre-packed with a few beers and some candy, and he bought pizza for the two of them from the little concession stand across from the ticket booth. Cuddled into the back of the truck, she watched his face in the glow of the movie screen, trying not to be too obvious. His eyes tracked the characters, chuckling at their mishaps and antics, smiling at the tender moments. He must have sensed her watching him - about halfway through the first film, he tilted his head down to look at her, smile growing as he found her eyes already on him.

“Hi,” he whispered. 

“Hi.”

“You like the movie?” 

“It’s pretty good - the characters are kinda dumb.”

Bucky laughed under his breath. 

“If they were smarter, there wouldn’t be a movie.” He booped her nose, the arm around her shoulder tightening just a little. She tried not to notice how close his lips were. 

“Hm. What a shame.” She couldn’t think of anything else clever to say, her eyes roaming from that sweet little dimple on his chin, shadowed by stubble, to the soft curve of his lips, only inches away from hers. 

Bucky held his breath as she leaned half an inch, half a breath closer - his heart was stuttering, but she tilted up her chin and he felt himself drawn forward, his eyes fluttering closed. 

So much better than their first kiss, so much sweeter. Softer. Now everything was alright, now they had the time - to taste, to tease, to savor. His arm around her shoulder lowered slightly, a palm to the center of her shoulder blades to press her closer as his lips brushed across hers again and again. Neither slipped their tongue, not yet; neither of them dared to interrupt the tenderness of the moment. Afraid that if they pushed too hard, their bubble would burst. 

Her hands crept up along his jaw and into his hair, ruining the bun he had carefully combed his hair into. She could feel the smile edging up the corner of his mouth, and a giggle bubbled up in her, involuntarily. He pulled back with an answering grin, squeezing her tight before diving back in, his kisses firmer but no less sweet, his other hand coming up to cup her face. 

They didn’t catch a single minute of the second movie. 

* * *

  
  


Alone in her room at the clubhouse, Natasha stared at her phone. She had gotten email confirmation from Ross earlier - arrangements were being made for Y/N’s extraction, as well as her own. Money was on hold for approval, but she knew she could get it. She just had to talk some sense into her first; she’d convince her. It was time to get out. 

The phone rang, right on schedule. 

“Romanoff.” 

“Natasha. You got a green light?”

Her free hand curled into a fist.

“Almost.” 

  
  



	14. Chapter 14

There’s something heavy across her waist when she wakes up.

She shimmies, trying to dislodge it, but the firm pressure only tightens when she does. Something warm snuffled at the back of her neck, the feel of soft whiskers scratching, and it’s - oh.

Bucky.

A little thrill shot down her spine - still does, even after these last few weeks. He’s only spent the night a couple of times - and the two of them remain  _ somewhat _ clothed - but still. Her heartbeat picked up as he sighed again, breath coming hot along her neck.

She couldn’t shake this feeling, this nagging little notion, that she’d gone zero to 60 the moment she met him; in spite of the fact that they were taking things slow, something her trust issues and his gentleman’s upbringing insisted on, her brain felt like she was on a high-speed roller coaster, white-knuckling as she hurtled along the tracks awaiting the inevitable corkscrews and hairpin turns that would make her stomach drop.

Of course, with roller coasters, it helped if you had someone’s hand to hold.

She wiggled again in Bucky’s grip, trying to turn and face him, but he groaned in protest and tightened his spooning position. She rolled her eyes a little, patting his hand where it rested on her stomach. 

“Such a baby,” she sighed, morning voice little more than a croak. 

Bucky groaned again. 

“‘S too early,” he grumbled, the sound muffled into the space between her hair and her pillow. 

“Maybe for you,” Y/N huffed. “Some of us have jobs, you know.” 

“I have a job,” he snorted.

“Oh yeah? Besides being a sexy biker?”

She heard his low growl rumbling before he quickly rolled to put his weight on top of her, his fingers wiggling into the soft flesh at her sides. She squealed and bucked under him, trying to escape, but he was too heavy to dislodge and she was way too ticklish to let him keep torturing her. 

“Okay! Uncle! Uncle!” she cried, breathless. His fingers stilled, but his hands maintained their grip on her waist, the weight of his chest holding her down as he smiled, his face a few inches above hers. 

“Hi,” he stage-whispered. His bed-head was in full disarray after his tickle attack, random strands fluffed out in different directions and hanging in front of his eyes. She blew a puff of breath past her lips, amused at the way he wrinkled his nose as the wayward hairs waved back in his face. 

Good morning,” she smiled back, still catching her breath from the assault. 

He leaned down for a kiss - a morning kiss, soft and tender, a small taste to break the night-long fast. The tip of his nose traced the length of hers. 

“Still too early,” he hummed, lips working their way across her cheeks and nose and eyelids. 

“Mm?” she hummed back, eyes closed.

“You know it’s Saturday, right?” he half-chuckled, nuzzling down into her neck. “Don’t have anywhere to be for a while.” 

She peeked one eye open, a suspicious smile tilting up one corner of her mouth.

“I know that voice,” she bit her lip. He didn’t answer, leaving his face in its hiding place at her neck. “What are you planning, Barnes?” 

“Somethin’ you’ll like,” he grinned, hands sliding down to the hem of her t-shirt.

“More like ‘something that’ll get you past second base’?” she teased. No matter how she played coy, though, her body couldn’t repress a shiver at his touch, fingers slowly climbing the skin under her shirt. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, honey.”

His head popped up and he gave her a sly wink. Surprised laughter sputtered from her lips, soon cut off by a firm kiss, his own laugh pressed into her mouth.

They didn’t get out of bed for a while that morning.

* * *

  
  


Natasha dug in her pocket for an elusive piece of bubblegum she  _ knew _ she had stashed there. It was becoming frustrating - the pocket was only so big. Maybe she put it on the other side?

The diner she was waiting in - Lakeview family restaurant - was the only decent place to eat in the next town over. A cup of black coffee, half-finished, sat on the table in front of her; she’s had two refills already and knows she should stop - 

_ There it is. _

Fingers grasped the missing bubblegum and wiggled it out from her jacket pocket. She popped it in her mouth with no hesitation, crinkling the wrapper and letting it fall to the table. 

Another glance at her watch. She’s never known him to be late.

She had been disappointed, but not surprised, when Y/N didn’t take the deal. In fact, she acted like their conversation never happened - diving headfirst into this fling with Barnes, the two of them apparently believing this could somehow... _ happen _ at all. A happy ending, a real life? The secrets were stacked against them, Natasha knew. Barnes knew, too, but she suspected he was thinking somewhere lower than his brain in all this. He had been from the moment the good doctor moved in across the street. And the rest of the gang seemed all too happy to welcome her into the fold, ignoring the very inconvenient facts about their  _ real _ identities, their jobs, their presence in this town. It could’ve gotten her killed. Almost did. 

Which was why Nat only trusted one head in the group - the one on her shoulders.

She was doing this for them. They’d understand, maybe not at first, but eventually. And even if they didn’t, she could live with their anger. Better than their blood.

It’s taken a few weeks to get things in order, but she had finally made the call. Clearly, extraction was the best case scenario for the team now. The longer they lingered on this job, got comfortable with Hydra’s silence after Rumlow’s death? She didn’t want to play those odds. 

A bell dinged above the diner door. She didn’t turn, refolding the gum wrapper in her hand as the booted footsteps approached slowly, quiet on the tile floor. She didn’t even look up when he wrapped his knuckles once against the table, before sliding into the booth across from her.

“Romanoff.”

“Fury.”

“Been a while,” Nick Fury raised his good brow as he leaned forward to prop his elbows on the table. 

“Well, you know how it is, Nick. Busy with work,” she smirked drily.

The waitress returned, pen at the ready, and Fury requested a coffee and whatever fresh pie they had that day. Whipped cream on the side, please. 

“You know, my doctor tried to convince me to try going keto,” he said conversationally as they waited. “Something about keeping my blood sugar steady.” He shrugged. “Decided I didn’t hate myself enough to do that.”

Nat rolled her eyes a little, unable to hide her small smile. She had missed Nick. But this, the chit-chat, the minutiae, was never what they were good at. People like them were rarely good at small talk. 

“So.” He turned the skewered bite of apple on his fork, gliding it through the whipped cream before taking a slow bite. “I understand you have a proposition for me.” 

“I do.” 

He pursed his lips, nodded, never lifting his eyes from his plate. 

“Then let’s hear it.” 

* * *

  
  


They were slipping.

Rogers. Barnes. The Avengers.

From what they can tell, the self-righteous pricks are too far up their own asses to see what’s been going on. No one saw his men tailing them on every run. No one noticed their movement in the shadows of the town, the palms they greased, the eyes that looked the other way. Nobody was looking when their numbers doubled in size, weapons making their way through with the new men. It all hummed under the surface, dry winter air nearly crackling with the static. 

Any day now, any moment - all it would take was some friction, a spark, to light the whole thing up. Burn the fucking Avengers to the ground.

Which is why he was very careful to avoid such friction. No contact - that was the rule. Keep your head down, mouth shut, do what you’re told, and don’t start shit. All the men knew, and they were scared shitless of the boss, so they obeyed. But they were restless, he knew. Itching, jumpy, knuckles cracking. They wanted a fight, and he wouldn’t hold them back much longer.

No, not much longer now.

He knew an old friend of the boss would be passing through today - on to the next town over. Better head that way if he was gonna get to the rendezvous point on time.

* * *

  
  


“I put together this team, you know.”

“They were already a unit when they were deployed in Afghanistan-”

“Yeah, yeah but I hand picked them all for this assignment,” Fury waved her off. “And now you’re telling me I made the wrong call?”

Nat sighed through her nose.

“I’m not saying they’re wrong for the job, but they’ve been out here for a long time and…” she glanced out the window at they highway just beyond the gravel parking lot. “To be frank, Barnes is compromised and the rest are content to let it happen. They need to be pulled out of the field to regroup. Period.”

“Mm.” Nick sipped his coffee. “And this has nothing to do with your...history with Barnes?” 

“Don’t patronize me, Nick. I’m a damn professional, not a child. You know that better than anyone.” 

“Yeah, yeah I do.” 

They stared at each other across the table for a moment - Nat with her arms crossed, a deep line between her brows. Nick seemed content with a hand wrapped around his coffee cup, empty plate scraped clean of crumbs and whipped cream pushed away from him on the table. 

“I trust your judgment, Romanoff,” Nick finally sighed, draining his coffee. “So what’s the move here?”

“Simple. Call it in, move on the evidence we have to clear Hydra off the streets, and send the team home for debrief,” she shrugged. “We’ve got more than enough to keep these guys put away for a little while - long enough that we can come up with a long-term plan and pump them for more intel on Hydra’s shadier business deals. Gotta be a weak link in there somewhere.”

“You gonna get ‘em to talk?”

“Somebody always talks.”

“Okay,” Nick nodded. “It’s far from the worst idea you’ve ever had. But I’m gonna have to make some pretty important phone calls. Probably have to go all the way to Pierce on this one.”

“Trust me, it’ll be worth it.” Nat tilted her head to one side. “You can salvage this whole operation before it goes south - now tell me that’s not worth a little bit of groveling to your boss.” 

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one having to do it.”

“I don’t beg, Nick,” she smirked. “You know that.”

He huffed, shaking his head.

“Oh, I know.” He rolled his good eye as he started to shuffle out of the booth. Natasha stood up too, readjusting the jacket around her shoulders. The sun was just starting to slip beneath the horizon, casting long shadows across the parking lot outside the window. Her bike sat next to his sleek black SUV, the only visible vehicles parked on this side of the building. 

Fury gave her a long look as he patted down his pockets, leaving a sizable tip for the waitress tucked under his coffee cup. Nat refused to meet his gaze, standing with her arms crossed, green eyes scanning the room. The other patrons at the cafe paid them no attention, as they slowly walked to the door side-by-side, Nat’s boots clicking softly on the tile floor.

“You don’t need to worry about this, Romanoff,” Nick sighed, pushing through the door first. The little bell above the door announced their departure. “I’ll take care of everything.”

“I’m not worried.” 

He stopped at the door of his car, good eye sliding sideways for a glance at her. She was already straddling her bike. 

“You’ll be hearing from me soon,” he waved, almost drowned out by the roar of her bike starting. He laughed under his breath, humorless, nostalgic, as she revved the engine a moment before throwing up gravel under the tires as she peeled away from the diner. He tried not to be irritated about the paint job on his car - already streaked with mud from these unfamiliar roads. 

The highway was nearly deserted, nearly dark, as he started the long drive back to the city. Romanoff might not be worried - though he suspected otherwise - but Nick certainly was. It wasn’t like her to pull a stunt like this, and it wasn’t like his hand-picked team of Avengers to get sloppy on the job. And then there was the sudden silence from Hydra in the last weeks since their ringleader’s death; his team, and his higher ups at the agency, had always known there was someone else, a hidden hand pulling strings, but could never quite get the bastard to show their face. And now, when they all could feel something building like a wave, about to crest, Nat wants to pull the team out. 

He shook his head. Too much to think about and a long drive ahead. His hand reached for the radio dial, searching past country stations and bluegrass stations and the lonely pop station - he settled on gospel, surprising himself. But it made him think of his mother, so he left it there. Flicked on the headlights, and then the high beams, showing him nothing in the darkening night besides the road stretching ahead and the now-empty fields, nearly flooded from last week’s rain. 

After a while - could’ve been an hour, could’ve been 20 minutes - he heard them in the distance, that distinct roar of engines. His ears pricked; they were coming from behind him, the direction of town. Maybe Natasha changed her mind? Maybe the rest of the team was offended he didn’t drop by and they were going to haul him back to the compound for a barbecue. 

Maybe he’s become one of those goddamn idiots who’s dumb enough to believe in luck. 

When their headlights came around a curve a quarter mile behind him, he was nearly blinded by the sheer number. The noise was nearly deafening, and he flattened his foot against the accelerator, mentally calculating the miles between towns. Too far in either direction. 

That was when he saw the group coming towards him, too. 

With a steady stream of curses under his breath, he dialed Natasha’s phone number. The phone rang, twice, three times - he glanced over and saw that two of the bikes had pulled alongside him, riders covered head to toe in black leather, white skulls painted on their helmets. 

“Motherfuckers,” he hissed. A jerk of his steering wheel, just a threat, and they braked a little, backing off. But there were three more directly behind him, not to mention the ones further back and up ahead. 

“Come on, Romanoff-”

_ “Nick?”  _

“ _ Natasha _ \- we made a mistake, they’re moving now-”

_ “Nick, what are you talking about? What’s going on?” _

The two bikers had pulled alongside him again, speeding up and slowing down to stay just out of his reach. One of them reached over to his hip, raising an arm right at the car-

The pop of the gun and his front tire were almost simultaneous; the car went squealing and swerving across the road, black marks burned into the pavement, before a wild swing of the wheel sent it flipping into the deep ditch next to the highway, where it landed upside down and creaking. 

_ “Nick what the hell just happened?” _

_ “Nick are you there?”  _

_ “Nick?”  _

  
  



	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since I updated this story! I'm working to finish it, don't worry!! :)

The lone monitor beeped steadily, plaintively, in the early morning quiet of the hospital room. Air rattled through the breathing machine, filling unknowing lungs over and over. A starched white blanket was pulled up to his chest, covering most of the bandages wrapped around his torso from the hours of emergency surgery. His left arm was already in a cast and laid on top of the blanket, resting against his stomach.

Natasha felt sick.

And angry.

How could she have been so stupid? Acting like a goddamn rookie, for starters, and running to Nick to fix their situation - letting things get out of hand with the Avengers, failing to convince Y/N to get out of here before things got bad. And they were only going to get worse.

If Nick had been identified, then they were all in danger. And there was no _fucking_ way, to her mind, that he couldn’t have been I.D.’D. This wasn’t a random accident, regardless of whatever the hell the local police wanted to write on the incident report. It was an attack, a warning. First blood.

Her knee bounced in her seat by the bed, plastic upholstery squeaking with every shift in her weight. She chewed her nails - a habit she thought she had finally managed to kick. A tall nurse, dark curls piled into a bun on top of her head, came in to check Nick’s vitals; she was quiet, efficient, offering Nat a sympathetic smile.

“If you need anything, just contact the nurse’s station, ok?” Her pink bubblegum, tucked in the back corner of her mouth, was visible when she talked. “And there’s a coffee machine around the corner, in case you need your fix before the cafeteria opens up.”

Nat nodded her thanks as the woman slipped out of the room, her white nursing clogs creaking a little, not yet broken in.

The sky outside the window continued to brighten, a clear and cold winter morning; she wasn’t sure how long she stared at him before she decided to have that coffee after all. Massaging her temples, she shuffled down the hallway towards the flickering glow of the machine. Her boots echoed on the tiles in the empty hall, the low hum of the coffee machine filling the little alcove near the elevators. It whirred and hissed and spat out her coffee into a blue paper cup with slow, deliberate drips.

How had she let it get this far? What was she going to do without him? And who the hell could she trust? She winced as the first sip of coffee burned her tongue. It wasn’t as though she didn’t trust the team…but she’d gone to Nick in the first place because they were no longer being objective - Barnes especially, and Rogers was only enabling him.

Her eyes on the waxed linoleum floor, she barely noticed him standing outside the door of the hospital room. Steve squared his shoulders, directly in front of her, his eyebrows tilted at a thunderous angle.

“You gonna tell me what the hell is going on here?” he gritted out, the hoarse edge of his voice scraping in his throat.

Nat didn’t answer, not right away. Instead, she let him stew in the boil of his righteous anger, air tightening between them. The coffee had cooled a bit, but left a funny taste in her mouth - the flavor mixed badly with the mints she’d been sucking on an hour ago. The muscles in her neck and back ached from hunching by Nick’s bed all night, and she arched a little on her feet, stretching and flexing, though the early morning tightness never quiet left her muscles.

Finally, when the flare of Steve’s nostrils told her he was on the verge of making a scene, she gestured toward the door with her coffee cup.

“Why don’t you head in there and see for yourself?”

Clenching his jaw, Steve turned and let himself into the hushed dimness of the hospital room. He filled the doorway - he filled most doorways - and from behind Natasha wished he could march into this and save the day, the way he always wanted to. At the foot of the bed, he stopped and rested a hand on the mobile tray waiting there, now cleared of the uneaten food from last night. His mouth turned further down, matching the turn of his eyes as he watched the sleeping man tucked into crisp hospital linens. After all these years, I was so strange to see Nick this way - weak, still, not in command. It shook something loose inside of him, but he tamped it down, cracking the knuckles of his fist.

“You know who did this?” he said, his voice a low growl under the tone of the monitors. Behind him, Nat closed the door with a soft click.

“Of course I do - don’t you?” She slipped behind him, sipping from her coffee, and took up her chair by the bed again.

Big hands curling and uncurling, Steve remained silent. From her spot in the squeaky hospital chair, Nat watched the slant of his profile, reading the rage in every line.

“Rumlow is _dead,_” Steve said through clenched teeth.

“But not the rest of them.”

“Without a leader? They’re just a bunch of thugs.” Steve shook his head. “There’s someone else pulling the strings - someone smarter.” He nodded towards Nick’s prone body. “Someone who knew about Nick. Maybe about all of us.”

Natasha nodded slowly, one finger tracing the rim of her coffee cup. Usually she enjoyed being right.

Steve scrubbed at his face with his hands, blowing a harsh breath past his lips. He turned away from the hospital bed and paced along the edge of the room, towards the window. With the thin curtain drawn, pale sunlight cast shadows beneath his eyes, sharped the noble angle of his nose. HE never dreamed they’d be standing here, years deep in a life built on lies and duty. Fresh from the army, him and Buck, and no plans - that’s when Sam approached them. Intelligence work, a chance to do something important, to keep fighting the good fight on the home front.

“They’re all in danger.” Natasha’s voice scraped at the edges of her throat. “You know that, Steve.”

“I know.”

“It’s time.” He turned to look at her, bits of hair falling from her ponytail to frame her face. Bits of mascara had smudged underneath her eyes, bloodshot and heavy.

“Make the call,” Steve said, looking back towards the window. “Get Pierce if you have to. It’ll piss off Stark to go over his head, but I’m not worried about his ego.”

Nat licked her lower lip, tracing the chapped skin.

“What about Barnes and his girlfriend?” she asked, leaning an elbow on the arm of her chair. “I can’t see him being eager to burst their happy little bubble.”

Steve sighed through his nose, crossing his huge arms across his chest. The monitors beeped a lonely rhythm behind him.

“I”ll handle Bucky. Just get everything ready - make all the arrangements. Do what you have to do.”

* * *

“So for dinner, I’m thinking…we still have that spaghetti squash in the fridge? I could whip up some kind of sauce to go with it…” she peaked her head up over the door of the fridge. “Sound good to you, Buck?”

Startled, Bucky’s head popped up from his phone.

“Uh, yeah sure,” he said, ducking back down and resuming the rapid movement of his thumb.

With a frown, Y/N hip-checked the door closed, bottles rattling inside.

“Are you listening to me, Bucky Barnes?” she asked, eyes narrowing as she leaned back against the fridge.

He looked up again - a well-developed sense of self-preservation kicked in when he caught that dangerous glint in her eyes.

“Yes - yes, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he sighed, sliding his phone into his back pocket. “Whatever you want for dinner is good - I’m fine with the spaghetti squash.”

She was never so easily distracted.

“What was so interesting?” she nodded his direction. “You’ve been glued to that thing all morning.”

Bucky’s shoulders dropped as he sighed, rounding the edge of the counters to approach her in the kitchen. Soft hands reached for her hips, reeling her in closer, sharing heat and heartbeats. The scent of his cologne drifted up on the air between them - spicy, warm, just subtle enough to remain sexy. He leaned in close and pressed his lisp to her forehead, devoted and sweet, and always properly apologetic.

“I”m sorry, baby,” he said, squeezing her waist softly. “It’s just Steve-”

“Steve?” She looked up at him with a frown, neat little line forming between her brows. “_Steve_ has been blowing up your phone?”

“Yeah, I know.” He shook his head. “It sounds like total bullshit, but I swear that’s all.”

“What’s going on with Steve?”

Bucky sucked in a deep slow breath, hoping to hide his hesitation. Their “club business” had always taken first place, first priority…the job came first. The job was important. They were saving lives, putting away criminals. But now his girl was pouting at him in the kitchen, and he’s so tired, so _goddamn_ tired all of a sudden - of all of it. Of being a public servant or a hero or whatever the hell. Of duty. He wants to pack it all up and just start driving. Move back to the city - or hell, even the suburbs would be nice. He’d take Y/N to Sunday dinner at his mom’s place; they’d move in together, and Y/N could decorate just how she wanted, and he’d sweat over rearranging the furniture and complain about trips to fuckin’ Ikea and all the other stuff that normal boyfriends got to do. In this moment, this inhale, he tasted it all, the life they could have. A dream they could build, together.

And all he had to do was come clean. About all of it.

In the space of an exhale, he faced it. He wanted this. It was on the tip of his tongue.

And then the next breath.

“Just club stuff,” he shrugged, feeling the weight of the lie dropping on her. “There’s…been a little drama between the members lately. Nothin’ for you to worry about.”

With another kiss to her forehead, he turned away and opened the fridge.

“I’ll put that spaghetti squash in this afternoon if you want me to,” he offered. “That way it’ll be ready when you get off work. Sound good?”

Y/N nodded mutely, pressing her lips into a smile. She had to admit it was nice having a boyfriend who was mildly competent in the kitchen.

“Okay, well, I’ve got to get in to the clinic,” she sighed, checking her watch. “Shit! I’ll be late.” Swinging her bag and lab coat over her shoulder, she gave him a final peck on the lips before bolting to the door.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you?” Bucky called from the kitchen.

“Too cold!” was her reply - and then she was out the door.

Bucky stared at the closed door for a moment, one hip leaned against the counter, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth. He just needed some time. Just a little more time to sort all this out. And then he’d tell her - the whole truth. Everything. And after, they could have a life together, something real, something safe, a home.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Steve again.

_Call me. Now._

Even as he rolled his eyes at Steve’s flare for the dramatic, a little tremor seized Bucky’s heart. Dread hovered in the back of his mind as he swiped his thumb and dialed Steve’s number.

This could only go badly.

* * *

One breath.

Inhale to exhale. That was how long it took for him to lie to her.

Cold fingers wrapped tight around the steering wheel, it was all she could think about. It scared the hell out of her, whatever it was he tried to hide in that breath, whatever he decided to keep from her. He’d never done that before…or had he? Did she know? Would she know? Would she be able to tell?

_Calm down, Y/N. You’re overreacting._ She lectured herself, cranking the heat in her car to a higher setting. A top 40 song, thumping beat and repeated lyrics, hummed faintly on the radio; she was running late enough that the morning talk show had already ended, moving on to the daily shuffle of hits and local business commercials. It all went unheard in the worried circle of her thoughts.

What could he have to hide? Unbidden, her mind flooded with horrible possibilities, every possible answer to that question, and each more horrible than the last. Was he cheating? Another woman was responsible for the constant barrage of text messages pinging his phone? Bucky _was_ handsome, not to mention clever, flirtatious, romantic; she had no doubt he could get any woman he wanted. But his attention and affection for her hadn’t waned - just this weekend he’d planned a beautiful dinner for the two of them, followed by a homemade cheesecake he had slaved over for dessert, and _then_ well…he was certainly still eager in the bedroom. The warning signs just weren’t there.

So what else? He’d never been secretive about the club before. Avengers business was Avengers business, but he’d never _lied_ to her about it. It turned her stomach sour, and she regretted having those pancakes this morning, the cloying smell of syrup still on her hands making her want to pull over and vomit on the side of the road.

She knew she was working herself up, letting her mind run amuck, but she couldn’t stop herself. By the time she pulled her car into the parking lot of the clinic, she’d half made up her mind to turn right around, go home, and confront him. The image of herself, half-crazy with ideas of secret affairs or violence or drugs, marching into the house and accusing him of lying - it stopped her short.

_God, why am I losing my shit over this? _Y/N dropped her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, the car idling in the lot, warm and safe from the harsh winter morning. She’d dealt with shitty men before, she’d survived bad boyfriends. It was impossible to make it very long as a woman without that experience. And yet, somehow, the memory of that paled in comparison to the devastating knowledge that Bucky was lying to her.

_You love him. _Oh god, she did, she loved him - she was in love with him.

She hurried out of the car and into the clinic, preferring to bury herself in wellness checks and vaccines and the flu than to keep thinking on it.

At the reception desk, Charlotte stopped her before she could get to her office.

“Oh! You’re needed at the county hospital today.” She handed Y/N the note, written on robin’s egg blue stationary.

“I’m sorry? Why?” Y/N squinted at the note, a handwritten scribble. Charlotte shrugged.

“No real explanation - but the chief surgeon said that they could use an extra set of hands with all the flu cases they’ve got coming in.” She took a sip from her travel mug. “I’ve heard they’re a little overwhelmed down there, since they’re the closest treatment for a lot of people in the county.”

Y/N sighed, looking back out to her car. She hadn’t planned to drive the extra mileage out to the hospital today; not to mention it would probably make her late coming back for dinner tonight. Digging in her purse, she grabbed her phone and shot off a quick text to Bucky, explaining the change.

“Alright then,” she huffed, placing her purse back on her shoulder. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

With a wave to Charlotte and the other nurses, she was back out the door and heading to her car. This time around, she turned the radio up loud, singing along and tapping her fingers on the steering wheel and not thinking about this morning, or her own life, or anything at all.

* * *

At the hospital, she was assigned to make rounds for one of their physicians who had called in sick. Simple enough. The elevator ride up was quiet, new nurses and doctors all quiet and polite, but holding down their conversations in the presence of a stranger.

She started on the third floor recovery ward, making her way down the hall door by door. Bedside manner was always one of her strengths; she could charm most patients with just a few words, breezing through her examinations and questions with ease. Chalk it up to customer service experience, but even the difficult patients usually treated her with gruff politeness, the insistence of her friendly manners forcing them to match with their own. Room by room, she checked charts and asked about pain levels and wrote prescriptions, the morning passing by in hours of sterile white tile and the smell of hand sanitizer.

Turning a corner onto the next ward, she was just looking up from her clipboard when she caught a glimpse of a familiar shade of red ducking into a doorway. Y/N hurried her steps, her cadence almost a jog as she tried to catch-

“Natasha?” She knew that hair, the back of her jacket, the set of her shoulders.

Nat was standing in the door of the hospital room, propping it open with one arm, head turned over her shoulder to stare at Y/N with weary eyes. Her face was pale, scrubbed clean of makeup, the bright baby hairs around her face twisting in tight little curls. At the sight of Y/N, she quirked the corner of her mouth up in an attempt at a smile, but it only managed to make her look more strained and exhausted.

“What are you doing here?” Y/N went on when she didn’t get an answer. Her eyes cut past Natasha to the dim fluorescence of the room behind her. “Is everything okay?”

Nat stared for another moment, her lips pressed tight together, jaw working back and forth. The hand she held on the door was curled in a small, tight fist, the peaks of her pale knuckles standing out against the long sleeve of her hoodie. Then, still silent, she stepped aside, gesturing for her friend to enter.

“Come in,” she said hoarsely. “We need to talk.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 updates in one day, cause I realized I hadn't updated my AO3 in a minute! Also, I apologize in advance for this. :)

He had seen her text about being late for dinner, shooting back that he didn’t mind, that they’d be doing some work at the club this afternoon anyway. That part was mostly true - he was already on his way to the clubhouse to tell Steve Rogers to _calm the fuck down._ As an afterthought, he’d tacked on the little kiss face emoji, restraining himself from typing out the three words he’d like to say instead. She responded with a thumbs up.

And then - radio silence.

Bucky tried to be cool about it, be the chill boyfriend; Y/N had a full time job, quite a demanding one, and he understood that. Hell, he was damn proud of it, of her and her brains and all her hard work. Smart, beautiful, and making her own way in the world. She may not have been the biker type, but she was certainly a badass.

And she wasn’t texting him back.

Typically, they were in touch throughout the day - she told him about her patients, and he’d sympathize, let her complain. He told her what he was up to at the club - so far as he could - or sent her stupid pictures from the internet to make her laugh. They were never too clingy, neither of them wanted to be _that_ couple, but there were never more than a few hours without some type of correspondence. He loved that about them - how they always wanted to talk about everything and nothing.

He refreshed his messages again, thumb scrolling upwards through the string of unanswered texts from his end, a knot of worry tightening in his stomach as he noticed the little read receipts at the bottom.

_What the hell did you do, Barnes?_

* * *

Y/N massaged her temples, holding her face in her hands. Across from her, Natasha was silent. The muted hiss of the oxygen machine and the steady pulse of the heart monitor were the only noises in the room; they weren’t loud enough to drown out the alarming scream of her thoughts.

And just this morning, just a few hours ago, she thought she loved him. A liar. A stranger.

“An FBI agent?” she repeated, less a question than an incredulous echo of the words she didn’t want to believe. They bounced around her brain until the syllables collapsed, meaningless and hollow.

“So all of you are…undercover? With the FBI?” Y/N finally looked up at Natasha, whose cold green gaze was cracked with something like pity. Nat nodded, pursing her lips.

“I’m CIA, actually,” she amended, swirling her long-cold coffee cup in her hands. “So is Barton. Little bit of a difference.”

Y/N glared sharply at her, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah, it makes a huge difference which intelligence organization you’ve all been _lying_ to me about.” She could hear her voice rising, the sharpened steel edge of her words. Palms flat on her knees, she sucked in a deep breath, counted 10, tried to calm her mind.

When she first came here, sparse belongings shoved into the trunk of her car, standing in the driveway of an empty home in a lonely town, she had had nothing. No one. She left it all behind for the sake of her future, finding a way for herself. Alone, unsure, afraid she was making a terrible mistake. And in spite of that she pushed forward, committed to keeping her head down and serving out her time until she was free to go back to her life. Her _real_ life.

And then…Bucky happened.

A swirling sense of vertigo sent her mind reeling. How had she let this go so far? How had she fallen in so deep with a man she clearly didn’t know? Who was this girl, this version of herself who leapt without looking and left motorcycle tracks in her wake?

Small and quiet, nearly drowned out by the rushing of her own blood, a voice in the back of her mind whispered:

_A girl in love._

No. _No._ She couldn’t - didn’t - love him. Because he wasn’t real, only a mirage, an idea. A simple illusion she had stupidly fallen for.

A tissue appeared in front of her face, offered in Nat’s nail-bitten fingers. As she reached for it reflexively, YN realized she was crying.

“I know this must be hard for you,” Natasha ventured, bloodshot eyes cautiously following the path of the tissue across Y/N’s face - one eye, then the other, then her sniffling nose. “You and Barnes have something really special -”

“No.” Y/N cut her off. Her lips pressed into a firm line to keep from trembling. The poor tissue was crushed to a ball between her hands. She swallowed harshly, throat aching, before speaking again.

“No,” she sighed, a little calmer; in her mind, a vault door clanged shut over her heart. She imagined herself spinning the spoke handle, the lock mechanisms tumbling into place with cold precision, sealing her in. “We’re not that serious.”

Nat raised a skeptical red brow. She’d barely seen Bucky at the clubhouse in the last month; he was all but moved in to Y/N’s place. They’d come to family dinners with the Avengers, and then go home together - _home._ They both called it that.

“Still,” Nat went on, treading lightly as she could. “This is a lot to process - but we’re still here for you. I’ve already made some calls. We can find a new residency position for you, an apartment somewhere-”

Y/N was already shaking her head.

“Keep it. All of it.” She stood from her chair, tossing the wrung-out tissue into the waste bin beside her. Chin lifted, she stared down at Natasha where she still sat, bewildered and bleary-eyed. “I don’t want your help, your money, your connections - I don’t want any of it. I’m done.” With the back of one hand, she wiped away the last of her tears. “I want nothing to do with the Avengers - or whoever the hell you are.”

Pursing her lips, Natasha nodded. She looked paler and more tired than ever; the cuticles of her thumbs were picked raw and close to bleeding.

“If that’s the way you want it.” She folded her hands together in her lap. The white bones of her knuckles appeared delicate and small beneath the skin. “Good luck, Y/N. I really mean that.”

Y/N nodded at the prone figure in the bed, motionless and silent, eking out life with each drip of his IV.

“Looks like you need it more than I do.”

When she was gone, Natasha stared at the empty doorway for a long time, barely blinking. A nurse walked by, glancing in for a moment before turning sharply away from her thousand yard stare. Shifting in her chair, she reached over and rested a hand on top of Nick’s, both their fingers cold and dry, soft breaths the only noise between them.

* * *

“Buck. Listen to me - we don’t have any more time.” Steve crossed his arms over his broad chest, sympathetic but firm. “If you really care about Y/N, you’ll help us pull out of this op. It’s the only way to keep her safe.”

Bucky rounded on him, a mutinous fury in his eyes.

“Her safety is the _only _thing I care about,” he said, clenching his teeth. “Why do you think I’ve kept her out of all this? I haven’t told her a damn thing - and now I’m supposed to expect her to just uproot her entire life? How _exactly_ do I explain that, Steve? Huh?” He raised both brows in a dare, a push against Steve’s immovable self-righteousness. Steve didn’t budge.

“How about you try telling the truth?” He dared right back, not one to back down from a game of chicken.

Bucky’s heart clenched, a mixture of defensive anger and guilt and fear swirling in his gut at the thought. It was the simplest and hardest thing he could do now. Tell the truth. His lies weren’t without good reason, but they were still lies. And what if she couldn’t forgive them? His throat felt thick and dry as he tried to swallow.

“I can’t lose her, Steve,” he whispered, voice scraping. “I…I can’t.” Bucky leaned back on the work bench behind him, gripping the edges of the table with tight fingers. He stared down at his feet. “I don’t even know what I’m doing’ this for anymore.”

Steve’s arms feel to his sides as he looked at Bucky, soft blue gaze filled with an aching sympathy. Their jobs - both before, when they were deployed, and now, back home but still in the field - had crowded out any room, any hope, for a normal life. Marriage. A home. Children. Things they didn’t think to want when they were young and signed their lives on a dotted line. They hadn’t known what they were giving up.

Steve shuffled over a few steps and eased onto the bench next to Bucky, the table groaning in protest at their combined weight.

“It’s really that serious with you two, huh,” he mused, knocking Bucky’s elbow with his own. “Never seen you so caught up on one girl before, Buck.”

Snorting, Bucky looked around the garage, shaking his head.

“Yeah, well.” He toed one of his boots against the scuffed concrete floor. “This is different - _she’s_ different. Jesus, Steve, I-I think…” he sucked in a fortifying breath. “I think I love her.”

Steve’s brows shot up. He’d never heard Bucky say those words. He’d had his fair share of girls - Bucky was never hard up for dates, not even as a gangly teenager; his pretty eyes and charming smile and half-quoted poetry books helped him out with that. Steve was the more serious of the two, talking about “the right one” and looking for love. Bucky just liked to have fun. Of the two of them, Steve never imagined that Bucky would be the one wanting to settle down first.

“Wow,” Steve breathed. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Well, hey, Buck that’s…that’s great.” He clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m really happy for you, pal.”

Bucky looked up with a hopeful smile, meeting Steve’s eyes with a bashful look. Bucky Barnes. _Bashful._ Steve had really seen it all.

“Thanks, Steve.” Bucky ducked his head back down. One of his hands reached absently to tuck his hair behind his ears. “I’ve…never felt like this before - about anyone.”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” Steve grinned.

Bucky’s shoulders dropped and he sighed deeply.

“I just don’t wanna mess this up with her, you know?”

“Then maybe it’s time for the truth,” Steve said softly, staring at Bucky’s profile. “The longer you wait…”

“I know,” Bucky sighed again.

“So what are you waiting for?” Steve shook his shoulder again, offering an encouraging smile. “Go see about your girl, you idiot.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky shook off Steve’s hand, rising from the work bench. His bike was waiting for him across the garage, the sleek chrome glinting in a beam of afternoon sun. He snatched his jacket from where it hung on a hook by the door and shrugged his shoulders into it, reaching to the pocket for his keys.

“I’ll catch you later, Steve,” he nodded. Glancing back over his shoulder, he licked his lower lip. “Wish me luck?”

“You won’t need it - not if she’s the right one.”

“Yeah, yeah, there you go with that shit again,” Bucky waved him off, swinging a leg over the bike and starting the engine. He tried to tell himself that it was the rumbling of his bike that set his stomach fluttering. He wished Steve would have told him good luck.

* * *

She had a duffel bag sitting by the door, socks and boxers that wouldn’t quite fit bursting from the top. Her heart stumbled and then picked up again at a breakneck pace when she heard the grumbling of his bike outside, the rattle of his keys in the front door.

“Baby?” He called as he poked his head in. “I thought you were gonna be home late?”

There was a long pause, a chasm of silence she couldn’t begin to cross. She knew he could see her in the kitchen, her back turned, hands gripping the edges of the sink. Her chest felt tight and she realized she was holding her breath.

Bucky felt his palms grow clammy again, and he flexed his hands, cracking the knuckles of each one alternately. Looking down, he saw the duffel bag by the door, a lonely sock hanging from the open mouth.

When he was 12, Bucky had finally convinced his mom to let him go to a local amusement park with his friends. Coasting on his sugary soda high and sticky-fingered from cotton candy, he and his buddies had sworn to ride every last ride - even the Devil Drop. An impressive 250-foot installation that attracted thrill seekers all year round, the ride lifted him up, up, up - until he was certain he could make out the roof of his house in the distance. And then, with ruthless ambivalence, the ride dropped their carriage. Stomach plummeting, legs glued to the seat, he’d screamed and gripped the bars of his harness and screwed his eyes shut, waiting for it all to be over. When he clambered down from the ride, his knees shook, and he felt a cold sweat on the back of his neck just before he threw up in the bushes. He’d never gone on a ride like that again.

But he remembered this feeling.

“Y/N.” His feet were heavy and slow as he moved towards the kitchen, as though he were wading through water. “What is this?” She glanced over her shoulder, then turned back to the sink, refusing to look at him. Tongue heavy in his mouth, he tried to swallow. “Baby, you’re scarin’ me. What’s going on?”

One hand pressed against her heart, she took a deep breath. Then two.

“It’s over.” She set her shoulders and finally turned to face him, her eyes dry but red-rimmed. “We’re done.” With a nod, she gestured to the lonely bag by her front door. “I’ve packed up your things already, and I want you gone - tonight.”

His mouth fell open in shock.

“What- no. No! Honey, what are you talking about? Please, just talk to me - I don’t understand-” he begged, taking another step towards her. She flinched back, pressing herself against the sink.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m upset about-”

“But I don’t!” His eyes were wide, pleading, and he fought to lower his voice. “Will you just tell me what’s wrong?”

Something in it, that innocent, loving look in his eyes, made her snap. A hidden angry part of her, all teeth and bloodlust, began to roar.

“What’s _wrong_ is that I don’t know who the hell you are!” He’d never heard her raise her voice before, and it frightened him, stopped him cold in his pursuit. It gratified her, the way he paled and took a step back. “What’s _wrong_ is that you’ve been lying to me from the moment I met you! I mean - what the _fuck_ was I supposed to think when I found out that my boyfriend’s identity is just a character he invented cause he’s _undercover_ with the _goddamned FBI?”_

Bucky’s mouth had gone dry and he tasted bile in his throat. The furious heat of her gaze was too intense and he looked down at the scuffed toes of his boots, unable to meet it.

“How did you find out?” he asked a moment later, still staring at the floor.

“Natasha.” Y/N folded her arms. “I ran into her at the hospital.” Reaching for her coffee cup on the counter, she took a small sip, grimacing when she realized it had gone cold. “You might want to go visit your friend, by the way. He’s in pretty bad shape.”

Shaking fingers raked his hair back from his face as Bucky’s mind raced, trying to think of what to say.

“I…I know you must be angry,” he started - judging from the look on her face, it was a gross understatement. “But I hid this from you to keep you safe. Please believe me, I would never lie to you-”

She laughed, harsh and sad, and shook her head.

“That is _unbelievable_ coming from you - all you’ve done is lie to me since we met!”

“It’s my _job_, Y/N,” he said, jaw clenched.

“Exactly! And I don’t want any part of it!” Her lower lip trembled, but she forged ahead. “Coverups and secrets and lies…that’s not what I want. I can’t build my life around that.” 

And there it was - the real challenge, the question she wouldn’t ask, the question he had been afraid to answer.

“You don’t have to.” His voice came out quiet and hoarse. “I’m quitting.”

A beat. He’d caught her off guard, and he watched as she quickly reassembled her defenses.

“What do you mean?”

Cautiously, he took a step forward; when she didn’t back away, he held her gaze and took the plunge.

“I mean I’m leaving the FBI after this,” he said. “It’s not what I want anymore, either. I…” a deep breath, steeling his nerves. “I want _you._ I want a future - Y/N, I’m in love with you.” He heard her breath catch, and he closed the last few feet between them to grip her hands in his own. He wanted to say it again, just to taste the sweetness of the words. “I love you, sweetheart. So, wherever you wanna go, let’s go. Let’s get outta here, baby, let’s run and not look back. It doesn’t make a difference to me; all I’ve gotta do is finish this job and then I’m out. I’m all yours - I promise.”

In her head, she could see it, a supercut of daydreams and hopes - the two of them moving furniture into a cramped apartment in the city, adopting a dog and lining the window sill with tiny succulents. A white dress. A pair of rings.

Closing her eyes, she gathered each thought, snatching each one by the wings as it flew by, and placed them all in her vault. She let the door swing shut, hearing the heavy bolt slide home.

Calmly, firmly, she pulled her hands from his grip.

When she opened her eyes again, it was like meeting a stranger - she was standing right in front of him but he’d never felt so far away. His fingers grasped at empty air and his throat closed up. He wanted to get on his knees, beg her not to say the part that came next.

“It’s too late for that, Bucky.” She took a step away, out of his reach. He didn’t try to follow. “I’m sorry, but…” she shook her head. “I just can’t forgive this. I’m-I’m really sorry.” Lifting her chin, she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, took one more step backwards. Bucky felt cold all the way down to his boots. There was no mercy in her gaze - no hatred, either. She had shed her tears, and would give him no more.

“Goodbye, Bucky.”


End file.
